Living And Dying
by MegKevin
Summary: Follows the relationship of Kirk and Spock through all the stages. Goes through the movie and beyond. Slowbuilding. language, mild sexual content eventually , angst, violence. And Slash. Lots of Slash. Sorry about the lack of updates! MAJOR brainblock!
1. Let That Be Your Last Battlefield

**Love Means Living And Dying**

**Disclaimer:**If I owned them, would anyone have cause to doubt that Kirk and Spock were in love?

**A/N:**Well, um...wow. My second post, my first series....wow. Okay, well, this is going to be a K/S fic, eventually. It's going to be fairly slow-building, going through the stages of them building a relationship. And as such, I will be going through the Reboot film. If you haven't seen it, I would advise that you do that before reading this, because I'm not typing it ALL up—let's face it; that would be boring, but enough that, hopefully, if you haven't seen it, you won't get lost. I will probably make references to TOS(because it is too awesome not to) and if you get them, that's great, cookies for you. If you don't, no big deal, but, shame on you for not watching!

There will be language, mild sexual content(at some point), angst, and violence. It won't get explicit, because quite frankly, I'd be too embarrassed. Though I seem to have no problems reading it... But if any of these things bother you, don't read.

And so we go...

* * *

**Prologue: Let That Be Your Last Battlefield**

"I'm not…gonna be there." When she heard her husband speak those words, Winona Kirk knew he didn't just mean there for the birth.

He wasn't going to be there…indefinitely.

"What is it?" he asked. She could hear the tears he was holding back in his voice.

"It's a boy," she answered tremulously, gazing at her son, a buoyant light in the anguish swirling in her mind.

"A boy?" He huffed out a short, breathless laugh. "Tell me about him."

"He's beautiful," she said wonderingly. "Oh, George, you should be here…"

"What are we gonna call him?"

"Umm…" She stroked her baby's tiny hand. "We could name him after your father," she suggested.

Her husband laughed again. "Tiberius, are you kidding me?" His voice was even thicker now. "No, that's the worst. Let's name him after your dad, l-let's call him Jim."

"Jim…okay…Jim it is," she agreed quietly.

"Sweetheart, can you hear me?" His voice was panicked.

Her 'yes' was almost lost in her sob.

"I love you so much," he told her desperately.

"I love-" And his voice was lost in the sound of the explosion coming through the communicator, and then—nothing.

Winona shook and tears streamed down her cheeks. She clutched the bundle in her arms to her tightly as she stared out the window at the flaming explosion that was her husband's last battlefield. He wasn't going to be there. He wouldn't be there on Jim's first birthday. When they got back to Earth and introduced Jim to his big brother. On Jim's first day of school. As his sons became men. When they graduated high school. To see them go to college or join Starfleet, on their wedding days, when his grandchildren were born…. He wasn't going to be there. He was never going to be there again.

She held her newborn son close as she sobbed.

He wasn't going to be there.

* * *

**A/N:** I humbly beg you to review. I welcome both compliments and constructive criticism. As always, flaming will be ignored.


	2. The Deadly Years

**Living And Dying**

**Disclaimer:**If I owned them, I probably wouldn't be writing fanfiction about them. Common sense, people.

**A/N:**Hello, everybody! If you're reading this, it probably means you liked the prologue enough to come back for more. Thanks! This chapter goes out to **circa divide**, who was the first person to review this series, and to **MirrorFlower and DarkWind**, who was the second, and of course to **T'Key'la**, who asked so nicely for more! You guys are the bomb! I advise any readers who haven't to check them out, cuz they are just that good. Thank you so much to everyone who fav'd, reviewed, alerted, or did none of the above but liked it anyway. And to those last-come out of the woodwork! I would love to hear your insights!

And so the curtain rises….

* * *

**Chapter One: The Deadly Years**

The bright red convertible zoomed along Iowa's dirt streets at eighty miles an hour.

The comms unit chirped. The blond boy pushed the button and rolled his eyes as his stepfather's voice filled the car. "Hey, are you outta your mind? That car's an antique. You think you can get away with this just cuz your mother's off-planet? You get your ass back home NOW. You live in my house, buddy. You live in my house and that is _my car_. You get one scratch on that car and I'm gonna whip your a—"

The kid cut the connection and reached up to release the top. Instead of folding back, it blew off completely. For a second, he felt a lurch of dread. Then a huge smile spread across his face. Boy, was Frank gonna be pissed!

He caught sight of a boy a little older than himself walking along the side of the road, sticking his thumb out without looking back. As the blond came up behind the hitchhiker, he realized who it was and his adrenaline-induced smile widened. Would the bully still think him a nerd now?

"Hey, Johnny!" he yelled, turning and waving, reveling in the shell-shocked expression on the older boy's face. As he did, he caught sight of a hovercycle cop-bot chasing him. The bot pulled alongside the car. "Citizen. Pull over," it commanded. He spun the wheel crazily, turning onto a side road but losing almost no speed. A devilish smirk stretched his face.

The sound of sirens filled his ears and he could feel his pulse pounding double-time in his veins. _Just try and catch me!_ He thought. He slammed through wooden gates, into a restricted area.

As he looked down the road, straining his eyes to see through the Iowa dust, he made out a strange… something…in the road ahead. A few seconds later he realized it was a huge gorge. Anger coursed through him. _A dead end._ Another _dead end._ His entire life was a dead end. One giant cliff waiting for him to fall. _Dead ends…!_ A mom who couldn't afford to take a job that would let her come home every night. A big brother who tried to protect him but came home less and less. A step-dad who beat him, just because he was there. Classmates who pounded him to a pulp because he aced his tests. Teachers who suspected him of cheating, who scolded him for fighting, even when it was six against one. All dead ends, no matter how hard he tried, all dead ends, and now, another dead end trying to rein him in. There were only two choices. One; he could brake right now and let the cop-bot arrest him, or two; he could just keep going until the cliff swallowed him. Either way, a dead end. It seemed that the universe was determined to see him fall.

He clenched his teeth. _I. AM. SICK OF IT! _He screamed to himself. _I'm sick of everyone telling me that I can't do it, that I'll never amount to anything. I'm sick of adults who think they know who I am and what I can do. I'm sick of being screwed over!_

_Screw it,_ he decided forcefully. _Screw all the jerks who think they know better. I'll show those assholes. I'm going to throw it all in their arrogant faces. I'll do everything they tell me I can't. I'll drive this car over the edge of a canyon, and I'll live to tell about it. Screw them all!_

"YAAAAAAH!"

He slammed down the brake and launched himself from the car. The convertible fishtailed and skidded over the edge. He slid along the ground, earning serious road burn and scrapes on his elbows and knees. He felt his legs disappear over the edge and his hands scrabbled, trying to find a purchase on the hard-packed dirt. Triumph surged through him as he pulled himself out of the canyon, and straightened up. _Screw the universe!_

The cop-bot dismounted his hovercycle and marched over to him. "Is there a problem officer?" the boy asked, a little out of breath, but still cocky.

"Citizen. What is your name?" it asked.

The boy jerked his chin up, blond hair blowing in the wind. "My name is James Tiberius Kirk," he said defiantly.

_Screw the universe!_

* * *

The young boy bent over, packing his belongings into his satchel. His black hair was cut severely above upturned eyebrows, and around curved pointed ears. His solemn face was impassive as he straightened up. "Spock," a male voice called to him.

"I presume you have prepared new insults for today?" he inquired coolly.

"Affirmative," the deeper voice answered. The boy stood, turned and walked up to the group. Four of his peers, all a little older and taller than he, faced him.

"This is your thirty-fifth attempt to elicit an emotional response from me," he informed them.

"You're neither human nor Vulcan and therefore have no place in this universe," one—the one who had called out—told him.

"Look," said another to his friends. "He has human eyes. They look sad, don't they." It didn't sound like a question.

"Perhaps an emotional response requires physical stimulating," the leader suggested. He shoved Spock back with both hands. "He's a traitor, you know. Your father. For marrying her. That human whore."

Spock's face twisted in anger. "AAGH!" he yelled as he shoved the other boy into a learning pod. He slid in after and slammed his fist into the bully's face, spinning him around with the force of the blow. The older boy grabbed Spock by the collar, but Spock tripped him and climbed on top of him, punching him mercilessly.

* * *

His father sat down next to him on the bench. Spock hung his head, ashamed of his emotional outburst, ashamed that he felt shame. "They called you a traitor," he said softly, raising his head to look at his father.

"Emotions run deep within our race," Sarek said. "In many ways more deeply than in humans. Logic offers a serenity humans seldom experience; the control of feelings. So that they do not control you."

Spock contemplated for a second, then looked back at his father, confusion in his eyes, though the rest of his face was blank. Frustration bubbled up within him and he struggled to tamp it down. "You suggest… that I should be completely Vulcan." His brows furrowed. "And yet you married a human."

"As Ambassador to Earth it is my duty to observe and understand human behavior," he explained. "Marrying your mother was…logical."

Spock thought about it for a moment.

"Spock." He raised his eyes to his father's again. "You are fully capable of deciding your own destiny. The question you face is, which path will you choose? This is something only you can decide."

* * *

Spock's difficulties only grew worse. He constantly faced prejudice from his peers and even his instructors. His father was very strict with him, and when Sarek was around, Spock strived to be utterly devoid of emotion in an effort to please him. The only person who seemed to accept Spock as he was, whether he was being human, or emotionless Vulcan, was his mother, Amanda. Though he struggled to be without emotion, she always seemed to know what feelings he was hiding, and exactly how to respond.

This comforted him greatly, but also worried him. If she knew what he was feeling, then he clearly was not succeeding at suppressing his emotions. When, at last, he could stand to wonder no longer and put the question to her, she laughed.

"Oh, Spock," she said with an exasperated noise that fell somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. She crouched in front of him and put her hands on either side of his face. "I've been living with Vulcans for sixteen years, three years longer than you've been alive. I've had plenty of time to get used to the Vulcan ways. And I'm your mother. I've been with you your whole life, so I know every tiny indicator of your mood. And," she smiled brightly, "Any human mother will tell you; we have a sixth sense when it comes to our children. We know things about them almost instinctively." She patted his cheek and stood. "Okay?"

"Very well," he consented. Privately he thought that humans were strange indeed, driven as they were by emotion, but human women, perhaps even more so.

He continued to face prejudice and conceit from all Vulcans he met. As he lay in bed at night, trying to banish his anger at their arrogance, he wondered despairingly what the logic was in despising him for the simple fact that his mother was human. _Where is the logic in automatically making assumptions about me?_ he anguished, fists clenching. Realizing what he was doing, he relaxed his hands, forcing himself to breathe deeply and evenly.

When he could not entirely suppress his despair, he sat up and pushed aside the curtains at his window, to reveal the bright and sparkling stars. As he gazed out at them, he recalled the silly little poem his mother used to recite with him when he was a small child. Try as he might, he could not recall the full poem, so he settled for what he did remember. He trained his eyes on the first dot of light they met and, acutely aware of how illogical it was to 'wish on a star', he murmured, "My dearest wish…I would like someone I can truly call friend. Someone who, when looking at me, will see _me_ and not a half-Vulcan, half-human outcast. A person who will not ask that I be more than myself. This…is my deepest desire." He had never spoken these words aloud before, though they were often at the forefront of his mind. Somehow, he felt a little lighter now that he had admitted it out loud, even if it was only to a far-distant star.

Much calmer, he laid back on his pillow, pulled his light blanket up to his chin, and quickly fell asleep in the warm light of the night sky falling from his open curtains.

* * *

But if the next years were hard on Spock, they were a living hell for James T. Kirk. He spent three good years on Tarsus IV with his brother Sam, living with his aunt and uncle. Then, in a flash, everything was wrong, a hell to torment him even in his waking hours. He returned home, fourteen years old, hardened and haunted, having lived through a nightmare that would have broken older and harder men. That _had _broken them.

He laughed his way through high school, in bed with a different girl every week from his sophomore year on, in and out of jail for minor offenses a dozen times.

Frank was long gone; his mom had divorced him immediately after bailing a ten-year old Jim out of juvenile detention for driving a car over a cliff. Then she had sent both sons out to Tarsus while she searched for a job closer to home. She had found one groundside, in their hometown of Riverside, Iowa, but worked long hours.

Sam was gone before Jim's junior year, working any job he could find to pay his college tuition. He majored in sciences and called at least once a month to check on Jim. He came home for Christmas every year, and they tried to be a normal happy family for a week or two before he went back.

Jim lived fast and furious. He was cocky and arrogant, constantly pissing off his teachers with his lack of respect. He got perfect scores, but never seemed to be paying attention. He charmed every girl he met and learned to fight in bars and against the boyfriends, girlfriends, family members, and occasional husbands of the girls he seduced. He became infamous as a playboy, a love 'em and leave 'em sort of guy. At age seventeen, he discovered the mind-numbing power of alcohol, and got drunk as often as he could stand. His life was a whirlwind of bars, hospitals, jail cells and long, solitary nights zooming across the flat Iowa countryside on his motorcycle rather than sleeping.

He made no attachments to anyone, let no one close to him, determined to be free, held down by no one and nothing.

James T. Kirk lived his life in was that would maximize the benefits and minimize the repercussions.

Until he turned twenty-two and tried to hit on a beautiful African woman in a bar.

* * *

He lifted a beer to his lips and downed a healthy gulp, settling more comfortably on his stool. His head was already buzzing pleasantly, and he lifted his drink again. As he tilted it up, he caught sight of a drop-dead gorgeous girl wending her way through the crowd toward him. Her mocha-colored skin glowed in the dim lighting, and her straight, silky dark hair flowed halfway down her back. She was wearing the red mini-dress of a Starfleet cadet and her smile was dazzling. She carried herself with a confidence that made Jim long to get her in bed. He had frozen in place, beer tipped up a centimeter from his mouth.

"Shit—" He hastily lowered his beer bottle to keep any more from spilling. Muttering expletives under his breath, he grabbed a napkin with his free hand and mopped up his lap, thankful that he had caught it before a wet spot appeared on his dark jeans. He kept one eye on the woman as she strode purposefully up to the bar and scanned a menu.

"One Clabnian firetea, three Budweiser classics, two Cardassian sunrises, and…" she trailed off, looking at the menu again.

"Try the Slusho, it's good," the bartender suggested.

Smiling, she handed back the menu. "The Slusho mix, thank you."

"That's a lot of drinks for one woman," Jim drawled, leaning forward so she could see him around the alien with the elongated face who sat between them.

She glanced over at him, and turned back to the bartender, rolling her eyes, but half-smiling. "And a shot of Jack, straight up," she added.

"Make that two, her shot's on me," Jim piped up, jerking a thumb at her with a sidelong glance.

"Her shot's on her," the woman contradicted immediately, before turning to Jim. "Thanks but no thanks."

"Don't you even wanna know my name, before you completely reject me?"

"I'm fine without it," she told him.

"You are fine without it," he agreed wholeheartedly. "It's Jim, Jim Kirk." He looked at her expectantly. When she didn't respond, he made an impatient gesture with his hands. "If you don't tell me your name, I'm gonna have to make one up."

Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, annoyed, before she directed her gaze at Jim. "It's Uhura."

"No way, that's the name I was gonna make up for you!" he exclaimed. Later, he would blame that one on the fact that he was about half-drunk and as such his charm was slightly impaired. The strange faced alien looked exasperated. "Uhura what?"

"Just Uhura."

"What, they don't have last names on your world?"

"Uhura _is_ my last name," she said.

"Well then, they don't have…uh," he thought for a moment. Again he blamed it on the drinks. "First names on your world?"

She still wasn't looking at him, but she smiled and rolled her eyes.

He grabbed his beer and walked around the alien to stand beside the lovely Uhura. "So…" he leaned on the bar. "You're a cadet, you're studying, what's your focus?"

"Xeno-linguistics. You have no idea what that means," she added challengingly.

His answer was immediate. "Study of alien languages, morphology, phonology, syntax…means you've got a talented tongue."

She turned, looking mildly and pleasantly surprised. "Wow, I'm impressed. For a moment there, I thought you were just a dumb hick who only has sex with farm animals." She was clearly baiting him now.

"Well," he answered, cocky. "Not _only._" His lips quirked up in smirk and she threw back her head and laughed.

A large bald cadet with a truly horrible beard chose that moment to walk up behind Jim. "This townie isn't bothering you, right?" he rumbled, and Uhura laughed again.

"Oh, beyond belief," she said with feeling. "But it's nothing I can't handle," she told him warmly.

"You could handle me, that's an invitation," Jim replied, folding his arms, impressed, as she knocked back her shot without flinching.

"Hey," said the cadet warningly. "You better mind your manners."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Oh, relax, cupcake," he said, slapping the bigger man on the shoulder. "It was a joke." Jim continued, turning back to the bar, only to be grabbed by the shoulder and wheeled around.

"Hey. Maybe you can't count," Cupcake growled. "But there are four of us and one of you." He got up in Jim's face as he finished.

Jim didn't bat an eyelash. "So go and get some more guys and it'll be an even fight." He patted Cupcake's cheek, smiling indulgently, before turning back to the bar again. He was leaning toward it when he tensed and looked back to the cadets, only to catch Cupcake's fist squarely on the jaw.

He heard Uhura scolding the big man as he collapsed against the bar. Jim heaved himself up and kicked Cupcake in the chest, sending him flying backward.

The man's friends surged forward and things became a blur of fists and pain. It was a blur that Jim knew well, and somehow, the familiarity of a good bar fight was comforting. Vaguely, he registered Uhura's voice shouting in the background as he was lifted from the floor and slammed into a table. His vision blurred as he was punched in the face repeatedly. As he was yanked upward for another punch, an earsplitting whistle filled the bar and everyone fell silent. The man attempting to kill him snapped to attention and Jim fell back onto the table with a thud, his head lolling. A man in Starfleet instructor blacks stood there looking sternly around at his cadets. "Outside, all of you," the man said, and a crowd of cadets filed out of the bar. The other patrons took this as their cue to leave.

The instructor looked down at Jim. "You alright son?"

"You can whistle really loud, you know that?" Jim responded dizzily.

The man cocked his head.

Several minutes later, they were the only two in the bar. Jim sat across from the man called Captain Pike, tissue in his nose and a drink in his hand. He had staunchly ignored the captain's warnings about the dangers of drinking with a concussion.

"You know, I could hardly believe it when the bartender told me who you are," Pike said conversationally.

"And who am I, Captain Pike?" Jim asked sardonically.

Pike looked at him evenly and quietly replied, "Your father's son."

Jim looked over his shoulder and gestured to the bartender with his glass. "Can I get another one?"

"For my dissertation I was assigned the _USS Kelvin_. Something I admired about your dad; he didn't believe in no-win scenarios.

Jim pulled the tissue from his nose. "Sure learned his lesson."

"Well, that depends on how you define winning. You're here aren't you?"

"Thanks," Jim said as another drink was set down in front of him.

Pike continued. "You know, that instinct to leap without looking, that was his nature too, and in my opinion that's something Starfleet's lost."

"Why are you talking to me, man?" Jim laughed.

"Because I looked up your file while you were drooling on the floor," was the cool, immediate response. "Your aptitude tests are off the charts, so what is it? You like being the only genius level repeat offender in the Midwest?"

"Maybe I love it."

Pike wasn't buying. "So your dad dies, you can settle for less in ordinary life. But you feel like you were meant for something better. Something special." Jim stared into his drink. "Enlist in Starfleet."

Jim's head snapped up. "_Enlis—?_" he laughed. "You guys must be way down on your recruiting quota for the month."

"If you're half the man your father was, Jim, Starfleet could use you. You could be an officer in four years, you could have your own ship in eight. You understand what the Federation is, don't you? It's a peace-keeping and humanitarian armada—"

"We done?" Jim cut him off.

Pike looked at him for a moment. "I'm done." He got to his feet. "Riverside shipyard. Shuttle for new recruits leaves tomorrow, zero-eight-hundred." Jim raised his glass in mock cheers. "You know your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes? He saved eight hundred lives including your mothers…and yours." Pike's gaze burned with intensity. "I dare you to do better."

* * *

Jim rode his motorcycle through the silent Iowa night. Pike's words still rang in his head. _I dare you to do better…_ Despite the fact that he hated losing a dare, his initial instinct had been to ignore the captain's words and continue on his way. So some Starfleet instructor thought he was wasting his life. Big deal, everyone he met thought that. There was no one he hadn't heard it from so why should it matter? And yet…

_Your father saved eight hundred lives…_ Jim stopped the motorcycle and gazed at the huge shipyard. Thinking hard.

When he pulled into the shipyard the next morning, he couldn't really say why.

He wanted to believe that it was just his natural recklessness, the fact that he hated backing down from a challenge.

But he knew it was more. He didn't want to be outdone by his old man. No. No, that wasn't quite it. It was more that he wanted to be his own person. He wanted to be something more than just 'the son of the hero George Kirk.' He wanted to be recognized by his own achievement.

And, though he was loath to admit it, there was truth in what Pike had said. Jim felt like he was meant for something special.

"Nice ride," someone called as he pulled up near the shuttlecraft. Jim turned off the bike and tossed the keys to the speaker.

"It's yours."

He strode purposefully toward the shuttle doors and Pike, who looked mildly surprised, though at his mode of transportation or at Jim himself, Jim couldn't tell. "Four years?" Jim repeated as he passed Pike. "I'll do it in three." With that, he slipped into the shuttle, wondering faintly if he were crazy and grinning widely. He shook it off and moved forward. Almost immediately, his forehead slammed into a protruding pipe and he ducked, cursing internally. He made his way, bent almost double, past the red-clad cadets. "At ease, gentlemen," he said, raising two fingers ironically to his forehead as he passed Cupcake and his friends. The man gave him a death glare. He found an empty seat and dropped into it, smiling awkwardly in greeting at the cadet next to him. He fumbled for a minute before he figured out how to buckled himself in. As he slid the straps over his shoulders, he caught the eye of the beautiful Uhura sitting several seats down in the row across from him. He grinned fiendishly. "Never did get that first name," he directed at her. She smiled and looked away from him.

Jim was still smiling when his attention was drawn to a commotion near the passage to the toilets.

"You need a doctor—" a female shuttlecraft attendant was saying.

"I told you I don't need a doctor, dammit I am a doctor!" exclaimed an extremely disgruntled voice in a slightly southern accent. A rather disheveled man a few years older than Jim came into view, a heavy scowl on his face. Even with the five o'clock shadow, Jim could tell he was extraordinarily handsome. He was also extraordinarily pissed off.

"You need to get back to your seat," said the attendant severely.

"I had one!" he cried furiously over her protests. "In the bathroom, with no windows! I suffer from aviophobia. It means fear of dying in something that flies!"

"Sir, for your own safety, sit down, or else I'll make you sit down," she threatened, glaring up at him.

For a second, he glared back at her. "Fine." Still fuming, he collapsed onto the next to Jim. The attendant stalked off and he scowled after her. As the man pulled the straps over his shoulders, he leaned over to Jim. "I may throw up on ya," he warned through clenched teeth.

"I think these things are pretty safe," said Jim cautiously.

The man snorted. "Don't pander to me, kid. One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds," he informed Jim, clipping the pieces of his buckle together. "Solar flare might crop up, cook us in our seats. And wait'll you're sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles, see if you're still so relaxed when your eyeballs are bleeding. Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence."

Jim wondered if he'd ever met such a dramatically pessimistic person before. Or one who knew so much about the dangers of spaceflight. Somehow, he didn't think he had. "Well, I hate to break this to you, but Starfleet _operates_ in space," he told the older man, slightly thrown for a loop.

"Yeah, well, I got nowhere else to go, the ex-wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce," the man said darkly. He pulled a flask out of his coat and lifted it to his lips. "All I got left is my bones." He drank and offered Jim the flask.

Jim took it, lifted it toward the dark man. "Jim Kirk," he said, by way of introduction, before raising the flask and savoring the whiskey as it slid down his throat.

"McCoy. Leonard McCoy," the man replied.

Jim handed him the flask and grinned, slightly bemused. He didn't quite know why—lord knew the man was eccentric, to say the least—but he liked the scowling, cynical Bones.

As the shuttlecraft took off Jim thought, _somehow, I think I've let myself in for more than I planned._ His grin widened. _This is gonna be interesting._

* * *

**A/N:** As always, I humbly ask that you review. Constructive criticism and compliments are equally gratifying and just to hear from a reader is an honor like no other. You probably know by now that flames will be ignored. Love to all of you!


	3. The Enterprise Incident

**Love Means Living And Dying**

**Disclaimer:**If you think I own them, you are seriously overestimating both my age and ability.

**A/N:** Hi. I'm going to try and be concise here, but there is one thing that needs saying:

**red713** mentioned that there were parts of this chapter that could have been left out/condensed, and to be careful not to repeat too much of the movie, since I advised you all to watch before reading. And it is definitely a legitimate concern, which is why I'm choosing to address it here. While I did advise you all to watch it, that was because it is a great movie and it'll be easier to follow along. I am going to be writing with the movie in the beginning, it's true, but I am going along pretending that you haven't seen the movie, because, while I am following it, I am also adding my own insights into the minds of the characters and what it means. So I am operating as though you don't know the movie and building the story, and all the scenes I put in are essential for you to observe the development and background of the characters. Many of them will also become important later on. I will also be adding my own scenes between movie scenes at some point. And the first chapter was more about their backgrounds, how they came to be who they are, than anything.

So if you don't want to read a large part of the movie, I advise you to stop right now.

So much for concise, huh?

The stage is set, so let the play begin…

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Enterprise Incident**

**Three Years Later**

"This session has been called to resolve a troubling matter." Admiral Barnett's voice rang out across the cadet-filled auditorium.

"James T. Kirk, step forward." Heads turned toward the blond cadet. As the admiral began to speak again, Jim glanced briefly at Bones and made his way toward the floor.

"Cadet Kirk, evidence has been submitted to this council suggesting that you violated the ethical code of conduct pursuant to regulation one seven point four three of the Starfleet code." Jim took his place behind his stand. "Is there anything you care to say before we begin, sir?"

Jim's shoulders were tense, but his voice was even, calm. "Yes, I believe I have the right to face my accuser directly?"

The admiral's eyes shifted and Jim whipped his head around to follow his gaze.

A young male instructor was getting gracefully to his feet. He tugged down the hem of his black shirt, meeting Jim's gaze emotionlessly. Jim turned his eyes away, faintly annoyed.

"Step forward, please," Barnett invited. "This is Commander Spock; he is one of our most distinguished graduates. He's programmed the Kobyashi Maru exam for the last four years."

Spock stood behind his own stand and looked over at Jim. After a beat, Jim turned his head and met Spock's eyes, assessing him. He had silky smooth black hair cut in a perfectly straight line across his forehead, not a strand out of place. His eyebrows slanted upward over dark, exotic eyes. His ears curved up to points. _Vulcan, _Jim realized. His smooth skin was pale and unblemished. He was insanely handsome.

"Commander," Barnett said.

Spock turned to face the board of admirals. "Cadet Kirk, you somehow managed to install and activate a subroutine in the program and code, thereby changing the conditions of the test."

"Your point being?" Jim asked. Playing dumb.

"In academic vernacular, you cheated," Barnett told him sharply.

There was an outbreak of mutters among the assembled cadets.

Jim raised his voice to speak over them. "Let me ask you something, I think we all know the answer to. The test itself is a cheat, isn't it? You programmed it to be unwinnable."

"Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario," Spock said, looking straight ahead.

"I don't believe in no-win scenarios," Jim replied, smiling slightly.

"Then not only did you violate the rules, you also failed to understand the principle lesson."

"Please, enlighten me," Jim invited.

"You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk," Spock said, almost reprimanding in tone, "A captain cannot cheat death."

Jim's eyes flicked toward the stands. There was a soft 'ooh' from the cadets. His eyes dropped to his podium and he fought to keep his voice level. "I of all people?" He looked back to Spock. _Will he be brave enough to say it?_ Jim wondered.

"Your father, Lieutenant George Kirk, assumed command of his vessel before being killed in action, did he not?" His tone was almost indifferent, and despite what Jim knew of Vulcan principles of logic, it angered him. _That's my father you're talking about, asshole,_ Jim wanted to say. _I may not like being expected to be something or someone because of who he was and what he did, but he's still my dad. I'm proud of him, and his life means something. Don't talk about him like he's nothing._

"I don't think you like the fact that I beat your test," Jim cut in almost before Spock had finished speaking, a feeble attempt to direct the conversation somewhere else-anywhere else. _I am not my dad._

Spock continued before Jim had pronounced his last syllable. "Further more, you have failed to divine the purpose of the test."

"Enlighten me again." Their eyes were locked.

"The purpose is to experience fear. Fear in the face of certain death." Jim's eyes shifted. "To accept that fear and maintain control of oneself and one's crew." Jim looked down at his podium. Spock, however, kept his gaze on Jim. "This is a quality expected in every Starfleet captain."

Jim looked like he was struggling for words. He kept his eyes rooted on his podium.

He was spared by a man in Academy staff blacks walking across the floor to stand in front of the admirals. "S'cuse me, sir," the man said, handing Admiral Barnett a PADD while the cadets murmured. Barnett looked at the PADD then back to the cadets and spoke, with a barely contained urgency. "We've received a distress call from Vulcan."

Spock's eyes, which had been on the courier, snapped toward Barnett, a faint shadow of shock crossing his features as his lips parted in a quiet, involuntary gasp. "With our primary fleet engaged in the Laurentian system, I hereby order all cadets to report to Hanger One immediately. Dismissed."

The cadets rose together and began filing out of the auditorium, their buzzing filling the hall.

Spock turned and strode off at a quick, controlled pace. Jim's eyes followed him intently, a serious look on the blonde's usually smiling face. He barely glanced at Bones as the older man came up to his shoulder, before looking after Spock again.

"Who was that pointy-eared bastard?" he asked in an aggravated undertone.

"I dunno," Bones replied. "But I like him," he added, before setting off. Jim threw an incredulous look at the man's back before following close behind him.

* * *

"Kirk, you're on academic suspension. That means you're grounded until the academy board rules." Jim listened with a mingled sense of disbelief and frustration. The commander walked away and Bones came up behind him.

"Jim, the board'll rule in your favor," Bones said. "Most likely." _Gee, thanks,_ Jim thought, with a pained half-smile. "Look, Jim, I gotta go."

Jim turned and shook his friend's hand. "Yeah. Yeah, you go. Be safe." He tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace.

McCoy gave him a last, worried look before turning and walking off. About thirty feet away, he slowed and came to a stop, frowning deeply in concern. He rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. "Dammit," he whispered as he turned and marched back to Jim before he could change his mind. "Come with me," he growled, towing a surprised Jim away.

A few seconds later, Bones led him into a small medical room.

"What are you doing?" Jim demanded loudly.

"I'm doin' you a favor," was his answer as he searched through the shelves. "Couldn't just leave ya there lookin' all pathetic. Take a seat." Jim sat as Bones turned with a hypo ready. "I'm gonna give you a vaccine against viral infection from the Laveran mud fleas." He jabbed the hypo into Jim's neck.

"Ow! What for?" Jim asked in an extremely irritated tone, rubbing his neck.

"To give you the symptoms."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're gonna start to lose vision in your left eye," McCoy informed him, as the blond began to blink.

"Yeah, I already have," Jim said, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Oh, and you're gonna get a really bad headache, and a flop sweat," Bones continued, pulling Jim up.

"You call this a favor?" Jim asked with difficulty, as his breathing became heavy.

"Yeah, ya owe me one," McCoy said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he led Jim from the room. The blond was leaning heavily on the doctor as they crossed the hanger to the shuttle, and came to a halt in front of a commander holding a duty roster.

"Kirk, James T." he started. "He's not cleared for duty aboard the _Enterprise_," he told McCoy primly. The doctor bristled.

"Medical code states that the treatment and transport of a patient is to be determined at the discretion of his attending physician." McCoy glared down at the man imperiously, while Jim panted beside him. "Which is me," he emphasized. "So I'm taking Mr. Kirk aboard. Or, would you like to explain to Captain Pike why the _Enterprise_ warped into a crisis without one of its senior medical officers?"

"As you were," the commander consented.

McCoy gave him a filthy glare. "As _you_ were," he snarled, pulling Jim past him. "Come on." He dragged Jim up the ramp and helped him into a seat on the shuttlecraft.

Jim's breathing was labored and sweat covered his forehead as they warped into space. "I might throw up on you," he forced out.

"Jim, you gotta look at this."

Had Jim been in better condition, he probably would have been shocked to hear that the country doctor was not only looking out the window, but encouraging him to do so as well, without one mention of explosions or painful death. As it was, he barely registered that his friend was speaking to him.

McCoy nudged Jim's arm. "Jim, look."

"What?" He leaned over and peered out the window. They both stared in awe and wonder at the space-dock and the sleek starships parked there. "Whoa," Jim muttered as they approached the _Enterprise_. He was sure he had never seen a more beautiful ship.

Several minutes later, Bones was leading him through the halls of the _Enterprise_, muttering, "Come on, we need to get ya changed."

"I don't feel right, I feel like I'm leaking," Jim announced, twisting his mouth around the words as though they tasted strange.

"Hell, its that pointy-eared bastard," Bones cursed, pulling Jim down a side hall.

McCoy dragged him down to Sickbay. "Where are we?" Jim asked dizzily as they exited the turbolift.

"Medical Bay."

"This isn't worth it," Jim whined.

"A little suffering's good for the soul," Bones responded, business-like. He yanked Jim away as the blond tried to make a pass at a pretty passing nurse. "Come here," he muttered.

"My mouth is itchy, is that normal?"

Bones dumped him on a biobed. "Well, those symptoms won't last long. I'm going to give you a mild sedative."

Jim groaned. "Oooh, I wish I didn't know you."

"Don't be such an infant." He stabbed the hypo into Jim's neck.

"Ah! Uh, how long's it supposed to—" His eyes rolled up and he collapsed backward.

"Unbelievable," McCoy muttered to himself as he stalked away.

* * *

Jim sat bolt upright. "Lightning storm!"

"Ah, Jim. You're awake," McCoy observed, coming over to him. "How do you feel?" he asked as Jim moaned.

"Good God, man!" Bones exclaimed, eyes fixed, horrified, on something in Jim's lap.

"What?" asked Jim, following his friend's gaze. He gave a decidedly unmanly yelp and lifted his hands, which now resembled hand-shaped balloons, rather than actual human extremities. "What the hell is this?" Jim squeaked.

"A reaction to the vaccine, dammit!" McCoy answered, moving past him. Jim got up and moved to the nearest vid-screen, hardly aware of Bones calling, "Nurse Chapel, I need 50 cc's of cortisone!

He pressed a few buttons (With difficulty due to his swollen hands) and Ensign Chekov, the navigator, appeared on the screen.

He fast-forwarded to the part he cared about, as McCoy reappeared and scanned him with a tricorder. "—What appear to be a lightning storm in space," the boy said in a heavy Russian accent.

Jim grabbed McCoy's head. "We gotta stop the ship!" he declared.

He ran through the halls in his regulation blacks, Bones skidding behind him, shouting, "Jim, I'm not kidding, you need to keep your heart rate down!"

Jim stopped at a computer, and Bones caught up, fumbling in his medical case. "Computer, locate crewmember Uhura," Jim ordered as McCoy found the hypo he wanted.

"I haven't seen a reaction this severe since med school."

Jim wasn't listening. "We're flying into a trap!" he yelled to Bones, taking off again. McCoy rushed after him.

"Dammit, Jim, stand still!" he snarled. Jim paused, looking around and the doctor took advantage of the opportunity to plunge the hypo into his friend's neck.

"Ow! Stop it!" Jim spat, before running off again, this time having to dodge around the crewmembers that were milling around. Finally, the blond cadet spotted his target and shoved his way through. "Uhura!" he gasped.

She turned in shock and stood. "Kirk. What are you doing here?"

But he spoke over her urgently. "The transmission from the Klingon prison planet, what exactly—"

"Oh my god, what's wrong with your hands!" she cried, staring at the swollen appendages. McCoy caught up and immediately ran a tricorder over his friend.

"Eh-eh-Look," he said, determined to keep her focused. "Who is responsible for the Klingon attack and was wa ship Romoowan?"

"Was the ship what?"

He turned to Bones. "Wha's happenin my mouf?" he asked despairingly, sounding as though his tongue had swollen.

"You got numbtongue?" McCoy wondered, frowning in concern.

"Numton?" he yelled, losing his patience.

"I can fix that," McCoy declared, diving for his medical bag.

"Was the ship what?" Uhura repeated, more anxiously, feeling Jim's desperation.

"Romoowan," Jim tried to say.

"What?"

"Rom-u-wan," he said more slowly.

"Romulan," she repeated.

"Yeah!" he agreed emphatically.

"Yes!" she cried.

"Yeah, yeah—" he shouted. McCoy took the chance and stuck yet another hypo into Jim's unprotected neck.

"Ah-ah-Dop id!"

* * *

Jim raced down the hall, McCoy behind him, and Uhura behind the doctor.

"Jim!" McCoy shouted.

"What's going on?" Uhura called.

"Jim, come back!" Bones yelled, stretching out a hand.

"Kirk!"

"Captain!" Jim shouted as he burst onto the bridge.

"Jim!" McCoy was still yelling. Uhura too was calling his name, but Jim ignored both.

"Captain Pike, we have to stop the ship," Jim announced without preamble.

Captain Pike rose from his chair. "Kirk, how the hell did you get on board the _Enterprise_?"

Bones stepped forward, catching hold of Jim by the arm. "Captain, this man's under the influence of a severe reaction—"

"Bones—Bones—Bones—" Jim tried to interrupt, but McCoy went on as though he wasn't speaking.

"—To a vaccine, completely delusional—"

"Vulcan's not experiencing a natural disaster—" Jim cut in.

"—I take full responsibility," Bones finished.

"It's being attacked by Romulans," Jim finally managed to get out.

"Romulans. Cadet Kirk, I think you've had enough attention for one day, McCoy take him back to Medical, we'll have words later."

"Aye, Captain." McCoy tried to pull Jim away, but Jim shook off his grip and stepped forward.

"Sir, that same anomaly that we saw—"

"Kirk—" Pike began.

"Mr. Kirk is not cleared to be aboard this vessel," Spock cut in, and Jim talked over him.

"Look, I get it, you're a great arguer—"

"By Starfleet regulations—"

"—I'd love to do it again with you soon—"

"—that makes him a stowaway."

"I can remove the cadet," Spock continued.

"Try it!" Jim shouted angrily, losing whatever patience he had left.

"Kirk—" Pike injected.

"This cadet is trying to save the bridge!" Jim yelled at Spock.

"By recommending a full stop mid-warp during a rescue mission?" he inquired, as mockingly sarcastic as a Vulcan could be.

Jim turned to Pike, lowering his voice. "It's not a rescue mission, listen to me, it's an attack—"

"Based on what facts?" Spock challenged coldly.

Jim met his eyes and opened his mouth. "That same anomaly, a lightning storm in space that we saw today, also occurred on the day of my birth."

His face did not change, but a hint of surprise appeared in Spock's eyes, which only increased at Jim's next words.

"Before a Romulan ship attacked the _USS Kelvin_." He again looked to Pike. "You know that sir, I read your dissertation." Pike looked somewhat flattered despite himself and Jim turned back to Spock, eyes blazing. "That ship, which had formidable and advanced weaponry was never seen or heard from again. The _Kelvin_ attack took place on the edge of Klingon space and at 2300 hours last night, there was an attack, _forty-seven_ Klingon warbirds destroyed by Romulans sir, and it was reported that the Romulans were in one ship, one massive ship."

"And you know of this Klingon attack how?" Pike asked, disbelievingly. Jim looked to Uhura, hoping for backup.

She hesitated and said, "Sir, I intercepted and translated the massage myself. Kirk's report is accurate."

"We're warping into a trap, sir, there are Romulans waiting for us, I promise you that."

Pike glanced over at Spock.

"The cadet's logic is sound," said Spock finally, looking like he would rather have teeth pulled than admit it. His eyes flicked back to Jim and then he turned toward Pike. "And Lieutenant Uhura is unmatched in xeno-linguistics; we would be wise to accept her conclusion," he added, seeming glad (as glad as a Vulcan can be, anyway) of a way to give someone other than Jim credit.

"Scan Vulcan space, check for any transmission in Romulan," Pike ordered.

"Sir, I'm not sure I can distinguish the Romulan language from Vulcan," the lieutenant on duty admitted.

Pike moved to Uhura. "What about you, can you speak Romulan, cadet—?"

"Uhura," she told him. "All three dialects, sir."

"Uhura, relieve the lieutenant," he commanded.

For a moment she was speechless, then, happiness in her eyes, she nodded professionally and said, "Yes, sir."

"Hannity, hail the _USS Truman_."

"All the other ships are out of warp, sir," a girl in red—who must have been Hannity—said, "and have arrived at Vulcan, but we seem to have lost all contact."

"Sir," Uhura called. "I pick up no Romulan transmissions. Or transmissions of any kind in the area."

"That's because they're being attacked," Jim informed.

Pike paused, then marched back to his chair. "Shields up, red alert."

Spock moved to stand beside Jim as Sulu announced, "Arrival at Vulcan in five seconds. Four. Three."

As they braced themselves, Jim glanced over at Spock, who after half a second, met his gaze, and didn't look away. "Two—"

They dropped out of warp and into a battle zone. Debris and pieces of destroyed starships flew past them. The bridge shuddered as a jolt ran through the ship. Pike yelled for evasive maneuvers as Spock regained his balance and stumbled back to the science station, and Jim tightened his grip on the rail.

"Captain, we're being hailed," Uhura called, standing.

An alien face slid onto the main view screen. His ears were pointed and his eyebrows curved like a Vulcan, but he was completely bald, his eyebrows had a sharp vertical upturn at the ends and he had intricate, spiky tattoos across his cheekbones and forehead.

"Hello," he drawled, rather anticlimactically. They had all been expecting maniacal laughter or a demand of total surrender.

"I'm Captain Christopher Pike, to whom am I speaking?" Pike demanded fearlessly.

The Romulan inclined his head. "Hi, Christopher, I'm Nero," he said amiably.

"You've declared war against the Federation," Pike informed him. "Withdraw, I'll agree to arrange a conference with Romulan leadership at a neutral location."

"I do not speak for the Empire," Nero declared. "We stand apart." There was a brief pause and a hint of smirk crossed his face, though a new tension appeared in his voice. "As does your Vulcan crewmember, isn't that right…Spock?"

All heads turned toward the science station as Spock gracefully rose from his chair and walked to Captain Pike's side, saying cautiously as he did so, "Pardon me, I do not believe that you and I are acquainted."

Jim almost had to bite back a laugh at the formality the Vulcan was displaying at a moment when time was of the essence and he was addressing a man who had attacked them and who showed no inclination to desist in said attack.

"No, we're not," Nero acknowledged. "Not yet. Spock, there is something I would like you to see."

Spock's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly in confusion. "Captain Pike," Nero continued. "Your transporter has been disabled. As you can see by the rest of your armada, you have no choice. You will man a shuttle, come aboard the _Narada_ for negotiations. That is all." The transmission ended and the screen went blank.

Pike thought for a moment and stood. Slowly he walked down from the slightly raised platform that held the Captain's chair. "He'll kill you, you know that," Jim said.

"Your survival is unlikely," Spock agreed instantly.

"Captain, we gain nothing by diplomacy, going over to that ship is a mistake," Jim insisted more urgently.

"I too agree, you should rethink your strategy," Spock affirmed.

"I understand that," Pike said in a low voice. He raised his volume. "I need officers trained in advance hand-to-hand combat." There was a pause.

"I have training, sir." Sulu raised his hand.

"Come with me. Kirk, you too, you're not supposed to be here anyway. Chekov, you have the conn."

"A-Aye, keptin."

Jim, Pike, Spock, and Sulu strode purposefully down the corridors, Pike in the lead, Jim and Spock shoulder to shoulder behind him, and Sulu bringing up the rear. "Without transporters we can't beam off the ship, we can't assist Vulcan, we can't do our jobs," Pike stated. "Mr. Kirk, Mr. Sulu, Engineer Olsen will space-jump from the shuttle." Spock's eyebrows rose a fraction. "You will land on that machine they've lowered into the atmosphere—" Jim glanced at Spock. "—that's scrambling our gear. You'll get inside, you'll disable it, then you'll beam back to the ship." Spock threw a glance at Jim, eyebrows lifted and drawn together in an expression of subtle concern. "Mr. Spock—" his eyes flicked back to the captain. "—I'm leaving you in command of the _Enterprise_. Once we have transport capabilities and communication's back up, you'll contact Starfleet—" Jim shot another look at Spock. "—and tell them what the hell's going on here. And if all else fails," he said, stopping at the turbolift doors and facing Spock. "Fall back, rendezvous with the fleet in the Laurentian system." Jim looked at Spock again. "Kirk, I'm promoting you to First Officer."

"What?"

"Captain?" Spock questioned incredulously. "Please, I apologize, the complexities of human pranks escape me—"

"It's not a prank, Spock. And I'm not the captain. You are. Let's go."

Spock and Jim locked gazes as Sulu walked between them into the turbolift. There was a hint of a smile around the corners of Jim's lips and as he walked past Spock and into the lift, Spock's eyes dropped and filled with a mixture of worry and confusion, before he looked up at the group in the turbolift.

"Sir, after we knock out that drill, what happens to you?" Jim asked.

"Well, I guess you'll have to come and get me. Careful with the ship Spock, she's brand-new." Jim's eyes lifted to Spock.

Spock raised an eyebrow and nodded once, ever so slightly, looking utterly confused and a tad overwhelmed, before the doors slid shut and he was gone from view.

* * *

**A/N:** As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed, your insights are exceedingly valuable and absolutely inspiring. Many, many thanks to **adevotedreader**, who pointed out a few grammatical errors for me (since my spelling/grammar check is moronic) and whose encouragement is invaluable. If anyone notices any mistakes, I implore you tell me so I can fix them. I have OCD when it comes to writing.

Please review! Your comments amuse and amaze, and I treasure each and every one. Lots o' Love!


	4. A Private Little War

**Love Means Living And Dying**

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, I own them. And I also own rainbows, and Antarctica, and NASA. Oh, and did I mention my unicorn? NO.

**A/N: PLEASE READ!**

I'm getting a bit tired of repeating myself. So, I will say, one last time, that YES, the first few chapters are pretty much in line with the movie. IF YOU DON'T LIKE THAT, DON'T READ THIS. After chapter five, we should be past the movie, especially since so much is knocked out in this chapter. But if you care at all about character/relationship development, you should read the first chapters. If you are just looking for fluff, or sex, GO SOMEWHERE ELSE. I love to read that as much as the next person, but this is not one of those stories. This is a love story, and its gonna be painfully slow at times. Fair warning.

I would also like to apologize for the time it took to get this up. Sadly, this isn't something I'll be able to update every day, because I just don't have that kinda time, even with my non-existent social life. I'm aiming for once or twice a week, and praying it never gets past two weeks. (Reviews help! *wink*)

Now. Once again, many thanks to **adevotedreader**, whose wit and support drove me to type faster, and to Kathy, who probably hasn't even read this yet, and of course my bestest friend(that's you, Highness!) whose very presence inspires me! You guys have my eternal love and gratitude.

And of course, thanks to everyone who reads! You guys are the absolute best!

Another long A/N. I'll try to work on that.

And with no more preamble, let us rejoin our favorite men…

* * *

**Chapter Three: A Private Little War**

Spock's mind was whirling as he strode back to the bridge. His thoughts settled on the enigma that was James T. Kirk. Spock didn't know what to make of him. On the one hand, he was reckless and illogical. He was foolish enough to cheat on the Kobyashi Maru. He was argumentative and pushy. Not to mention what Uhura had told him about the man's reputation as a…_how had she phrased it? A 'love them and leave them kind of guy.' _According to her, Kirk was famous for his sex life. His reputation suggested that he lived without thinking of the repercussions his actions could have, and with no regard for others.

And yet… he had entered a subroutine into the Kobyashi Maru that Spock had only found after meticulous inspection. He was clearly extremely intelligent. When Spock had found the program, he took the liberty of pulling up Kirk's file. His eyebrows had touched his hairline. The man had perfect test scores and his aptitude tests were on a level with Spock's own. He was a genius.

His academy record also noted that almost every instructor he had ever had had reported him cocky and impudent, and those were some of the kinder phrases.

And at the assembly… Yes, he had acted careless and arrogant. But there was something in the way he spoke and acted… When Spock had mentioned George Kirk, James Kirk had struggled. And for a brief moment, Spock saw not a cocky cadet who cheated on a test. He saw a young man who was struggling still with the fact that he would never know his father, and at the same time, struggling to escape the shadow that his father had inadvertently cast over him. It was clear that, in addition to the pain at hearing the name of a father who had died hours after his birth, he resented that Spock had brought it up. He did not like being expected to be a certain way because of who his father was. He wanted to be himself, without being compared to his father.

Spock understood this. He too knew how it was, how it felt, to be compared to a father who had done something magnanimous. How it felt for people to have expectations.

Kirk was courageous if nothing else. After sneaking aboard a starship, he had almost immediately burst onto the bridge, ignoring all threats and orders, in order to make the danger clear. And he had not shown a single sign of nervousness when Pike had told him to space jump onto an enemy device, which he would then have to disable if he ever wanted to get back. _That is bravery bordering on masochism and stupidity, _Spock thought dryly.

And despite reports and common views, he was clearly not selfish. If Kirk were truly selfish, he would have perhaps asked his friend, Dr. McCoy, to inform Captain Pike of the Romulans, because he would have been worried about punishment, or reprimand. He also disregarded his own personal safety, running about the ship while having a severe reaction to a vaccine (which had particularly seemed to irritate Dr. McCoy). Instead of wasting time worrying about himself, Kirk had run straight to the bridge and insisted upon his point until he was able to convince them.

Spock settled into the captain's chair and hit the comms button. "Dr. Puri, report," he ordered.

The coarse voice that crackled back had a slight southern accent and was familiar. "It's McCoy," the harried voice said. "Dr. Puri was on deck six, he's dead."

Spock's mind was still working furiously, so it took him a moment to process this. "Then you have just inherited his responsibilities as Chief Medical Officer."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know," the man snapped.

Spock raised an eyebrow and turned back to his contemplation of Kirk. He was extremely intelligent, he was courageous, and in spite of rumors, he was not at all self-centered. Yet, he put on the façade of being conceited and selfish.

Spock paused. Kirk _purposely_ acted in such a way to cast himself into a negative light.

_Why?_

_Why does Kirk attempt to appear as though his personality is more detestable than it truly is?_ Spock wondered.

* * *

Jim squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his parachute tear away. He and Sulu held on tightly to each other as they tumbled through the dry atmosphere. Desperately, Jim remembered the connection to the ship. "Kirk to _Enterprise_, we're falling without a chute!" he screamed. "Beam us up, beam us up!"

Through the whistle of wind in his ears, he heard the transport technician's voice. "I'm trying—I can't lock on your signal," her voice was panicked. "You're moving too fast."

Seconds later, Chekov was running into the room. "Move, move, move, move, move!" he cried. "I ken do zat, I ken do zat!" He unceremoniously shoved the transport technician out of the way and began to calculate.

Jim heard him muttering to himself. "BEAM US UP!" he chanted. "_Enterprise_, where are you?"

"Hold on, hold on," was Chekov's agitated reply.

"Now, now, now, do it now! Now now now!"

"Hold on, hold on—compensating grawitational pool and—gotcha!"

Just before they hit the ground, Jim felt a tingle over his body and saw motes of white-gold surround them before they were hitting the transporter pad in a tangle of limbs.

"Ya-my-oh!" Chekov cried triumphantly, leaping to his feet.

Huffing, they slowly untangled themselves and sat up. "Thanks," Sulu gasped.

Jim nodded weakly. "No problem," he wheezed.

There wasn't much else to say. When you saved someone's life and narrowly escaped death together, there weren't words to describe the magnitude of what had passed.

"Clear the pad," Spock ordered as he strode into the room, clipping a phaser belt around his waist. Jim looked up as he obeyed. Spock's shoulders were tense. "I am beaming to the surface."

"The surface of what?" Jim panted, turning to keep his eyes on Spock as the Vulcan crouched on the pad, hands flat on his thighs. His brain was sluggish, but Spock's words eventually clicked into place, and a hard knot of panic formed in the pit of Jim's stomach. "Wait, you're going down there? Are you nuts?" his voice rose. "Spock, you can't!"

"Energize," Spock said sharply. The white gold swirled around him.

"_Spock!_" Jim shouted, panic creeping into his voice.

Spock was gone.

* * *

If asked, Jim wouldn't have been able to say why he was so concerned about the Vulcan Commander. He wondered about it himself as they waited for him to return.

Jim was a caring enough person, so he probably would have been worried no matter who had beamed down. But for some reason, he was experiencing an undue and unusual amount of worry and tension over the whole thing.

He had charged Jim with cheating, effectively getting him put on academic suspension and grounded. Thanks to the pointy-eared bastard, he had been banned from space travel in a time of crisis, when he felt sure he could make a difference.

Then, when Jim had managed to get onboard anyway, the first words out of Spock's mouth had been an offer to 'remove' him. He had seemed rather pleased with the prospect.

He always gave the appearance of calm.

He had to be a freaking genius to have programmed the Kobyashi Maru for the last four years.

Jim had heard some of his fellow cadets' comments about the Vulcan as they exited the auditorium. Spock was very unpopular, and generally thought of as stuck-up and prissy. Jim had caught comments like "He's such a hard-ass," "Everything always has to be perfect with him," "Damn robot, always showing off," and "He's always got a stick up his ass."

As he and Bones had left the hall, Jim had realized that nearly everyone in the room was on his side.

But it wasn't something he could be entirely glad about. He had only known Spock a few hours, only talked to him twice, both times in argument, yet he found himself in disagreement with the majority's view of the Vulcan.

Jim knew why people thought Spock was arrogant. He knew how easy it was for self-assurance and calm to be construed as arrogance. When someone did not react to something that others would react to with fear or anger, it was immediately assumed that that person was looking down on the ones who did react. It was ironic in a way. People thought that someone was looking down on them, and so they looked down on him. And Spock did sometimes come off as arrogant. But he was different, he was Vulcan. It was only logical for him to point out the mistakes of another, so that the individual could rectify it.

Spock tried not to show emotion. Tried hard. Jim had seen how he had struggled to keep his face even when Barnett had announced the attack on Vulcan. And when he had crouched on the transporter, Jim had noticed how sharp, strained, his voice was, how every muscle was tensed under the blue science officer uniform. From some of the things he had heard, a large source of irritation towards Spock was the man's utter lack of emotion. Jim thought that this was both ignorant and hypocritical. Anyone in Starfleet Academy was required to learn about Vulcan culture in their first year. One of the first things taught was that Vulcans followed the teachings of Surak, and consequently believed that blatant displays of emotion were severely disgraceful. They did not expect other races to want or need to follow these principles. In fact, they knew most other races to be wholly incapable of adhering to their strict, supremely logical society, and bore it with (for the most part) good grace. And composure. Vulcans were always composed. It was also taught that Vulcan emotions were so powerful that before Surak introduced the idea of logic and repression, Vulcans were a violent, volatile race. Their emotions were so strong that, if not properly controlled, they could prove very dangerous, even fatal in extreme situations.

Anyone who knew all this and chose to despise Spock for his lack of emotion, could, in Jim's humble opinion, go to hell.

And for someone joining Starfleet, which promoted equality and acceptance, to degrade someone for their culture was just ridiculous.

Jim knew how it felt to be hated simply for what you were, who you were. He knew exactly how it felt, and because he knew, he was pissed on Spock's behalf. Hey, _he_ wasn't bound to follow Surakian Principles.

And the way Spock had beamed down to the crumbling planet—Uhura had shown up and explained the whole thing—to save his parents…well, that just spoke volumes.

Courage, for one. No coward could risk their life to save somebody else's so easily.

Loyalty. It wasn't just his parents. He was also attempting to preserve their culture through the elders he wished to locate and save. Granted his parents were with the elders, but somehow, Jim felt certain that Spock would have gone in search of them if they hadn't been.

And love. Emotion. Beaming down to a dying planet was not the logical thing to do when you had such responsibilities, even if the lives you were trying to save were so dearly important. If he believed, as he obviously did, that Jim was not responsible enough to command the ship, that such a scenario should be avoided at all costs, then logically, he could not risk his life. So the only conclusion was that emotion, love, had overtaken his mind. If asked, Spock probably would have said that the lives of the elders were more important then his own. But more lives than his own rested on his survival. And, if he did die, then so would the elders, and they—the crew—would have nothing. Jim was sure that it was a mix of love and worry. Love for his parents and worry for their lives, love of his people and worry for the survival of his race.

So. Spock was brave, loyal, and logical. He was intensely intelligent, and handsome. He was driven to succeed and seemed to be the sort of person who loved to learn. His love was stronger than his logic, a failing in the eyes of his people, but an asset to Jim's eyes. Spock calculated every decision and weighed the consequences, to the extent of sometimes over-thinking things. Which indicated that he had insecurities. He wanted to avoid failure to the point that he overdid it.

He had his anger and his pride and his pressure points.

He was primarily logic-driven, with emotion lying just beneath the surface.

His personality was fascinating to Jim. _Someday, I'd really like to get to know him a bit better_.

_I'll bet he's_ great _at chess, _Jim mused, resolving to challenge to him to a game if he survived the planet. At that thought, the hard knot, which had momentarily vanished during Jim's contemplation of Spock's character, returned, even larger than before. _And if we both survive this whole deal with Nero,_ Jim added grimly.

Suddenly Chekov's panic broke into his thoughts.

"I'm losing her," he was crying as his fingers flew over the controls. "I'm losing, I'm losing her! Ah-I lost her," he gasped, stunned.

White whirled over the pad and the Vulcans materialized. Spock was closest to the edge, arm stretched out to the empty space in front of him where a sixth person should have been.

Jim glanced at the others on the pad. All Vulcan. All male. A hollow pit replaced the knot, and the brief relief he had felt at seeing Spock. Sorrow and pain crossed his face as he looked back at Spock_. Oh, god,_ he thought. _Spock's mom._

Spock stood, staring at the place where she should have been. He appeared to be in shock. Only a hint of pain he did not yet register crept into his eyes as he stepped wordlessly down. The room was deadly silent, all eyes trained on him.

They all carried similar expressions of shock.

_Oh, god_, Spock, Jim thought desperately. _I'm so sorry._

* * *

Spock stepped down from the pad, numb. An expression of shock was on his face. He looked around at the white horrified faces of his shipmates.

Kirk's eyes met his own. The blue gaze did not show any of the shock that his crewmates displayed. They met Spock's steadily, sorrow and pain filling them. I'm sorry, they seemed to say. I'm sorry.

Pain crept its way into Spock's eyes at this, and Kirk's seemed to grow in response.

Without a word, Spock turned away. No one else had noticed. The silent exchange had taken less than a second.

He made his captain's log, voice blank and left the bridge. He could not bear to be surrounded by those people who shot him furtive glances full of pity. He was already so close to collapsing.

Uhura followed him into the turbolift and stopped it before it had gone one deck. With whispered apologies, she hugged him and pressed her mouth to his. Spock felt a tingle of faint surprise. He knew she had romantic feelings for him; she had confessed them just last week. He had responded that he would think about it. She was certainly attractive and her company was exceedingly enjoyable. However, he was unsure if he harbored romantic inclinations towards her.

But it was comforting; it felt so nice to have her arms around him. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck, as she stroked his hair. He was close to tears.

"What do you need, tell me," she whispered. She pulled back and took his face in her hands. "Tell me."

He turned and pressed the button to start the turbo lift. She was blinking back tears she ran her hands over his hair again. "I need everyone… to continue performing admirably."

She nodded. "Okay." She pressed her mouth against his once more and he hesitantly returned her kiss this time. The doors slid open and he walked past her without a backward glance.

Spock made his way back to his quarters and locked the doors behind him. Methodically, without thinking, he set up his candles, dimmed the lights, and sat cross-legged, folding his hands and closing his eyes.

Concentrating only on his breathing, he slowly sank into the first cycle of meditation. When he was deep in meditation, his doorbell chimed, and he heard as if from far away. It took him a moment to force his eyes open. Stumbling slightly, he climbed to his feet and went to his door. It slid open to reveal, of all people, Jim Kirk standing in front of him. Spock blinked. His eyebrow rose slightly.

"Uh, hi," Kirk said, rather lamely.

"Is there something you require?"

"Well," Kirk hesitated, rubbing his neck. "Actually…I'm not sure why I came," he confessed. "I was just thinking, wandering around, and I ended up here, and just kinda rang the bell before I thought about it much…"

Spock's eyebrow ticked higher as the human spoke. Kirk quickly lifted his hands. "Look, before you slam the door in my face," he began, "Okay, maybe not," he amended as Spock's eyebrow shot up. "I know you don't like me," he continued. "But I know what you're feeling. I know you probably think I'm lying or exaggerating, but I know how it feels to lose someone you love. It's happened more than once." A humorless, pained smile twisted his face. "And after a while, I figured something out," he glanced at Spock and continued. "I thought you oughta know…It's a lot harder if you're alone. If you don't have someone to hold on to."

Spock's eyebrow rose and his lips parted slightly. He did not know what to say. That had not been at all what he had expected.

Kirk gave him a half-smile. "Just thought I should tell you. See you." He walked away, lifting a hand in a half-wave.

"Cadet Kirk," Spock called. Kirk turned back, surprised. "I shall consider what you have said."

Kirk smiled, a real smile this time, one that lit up his whole face. "Good. And Spock," he added as Spock started to retreat into his room.

"Yes?"

Kirk's grin widened. "It's Jim."

Spock merely raised an eyebrow and nodded marginally, before stepping back, letting the door slide shut.

* * *

"Earth may be his next stop, but we have to assume every Federation planet's a target," Kirk mused, looking quite comfortable sprawled in the captain's chair.

"Out of the chair," Spock said as he approached it, in the same tone one might use to discourage an adventurous child.

"Well, if ze Federation's ze target, why din't zey destroy us?" Chekov wondered.

"Why would they?" Sulu returned, bitter. "Why waste the weapons; we obviously weren't a threat."

Spock lifted a finger thoughtfully, pacing around the bridge. "That is not it," he denied with conviction. "He said he wanted me to see something; the destruction of my home planet."

"How the hell did they _do_ that, by the way," McCoy cut in. "Where did the Romulans get _that_ kinda weaponry?"

"The engineering comprehension necessary to artificially create a black hole may suggest an answer," Spock replied, staring at the view screen without seeing it. He turned to face his crew. "Such technology could theoretically be manipulated to create a tunnel through space-time." Kirk looked intrigued.

McCoy, on the other hand, was irritated. "Damn it, man, I'm a doctor not a physicist. Are you actually suggesting they're from the future?"

"If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth," Spock stated calmly.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "How poetic," he snorted.

"Then what would an angry, future Romulan want with Captain Pike?" Kirk interjected.

"As Captain, he does know details of Starfleet's defenses," Sulu pointed out.

"What we need to do is catch up to the ship," Kirk began, walking forward. "Disable it, take it over, and get Pike back."

"We are technologically outmatched in every way, a rescue attempt would be illogical," Spock said.

"Nero's ship would hawe to drop out of warp for us to owertake it," Chekov added.

"Then, what about assigning engineering crews to try and boost our warp?"

"Remaining power and crew are being used to repair radiation leaks in the lower decks—" Spock started.

"Okay." Spock kept talking. "Alright—Alright—"

"—and damage to subspace communications; without them we cannot contact Starfleet—"

"There's got to be some way!" Jim came down to stand in front of Spock.

"We must gather with the rest of Starfleet," Spock finished. "To balance the terms of the next engagement."

"There won't be a next engagement," Jim insisted, exasperated. "By the time we've gathered, it'll be too late." There was a pause while they looked at each other. Jim continued. "You say he's from the future, knows what's gonna happen, then the logical thing is to be unpredictable." Spock took a step closer as Jim finished.

"You are assuming that Nero knows how events are predicted to unfold," Spock said. "The contrary, Nero's very presence has altered the flow of history, beginning with the attack on the _USS Kelvin,_ culminating in the events of today, thereby creating an entire new chain of incidents that cannot be predicted by either party." He and Jim were locked in what amounted to a staring contest.

"An alternate reality," Uhura broke in.

Spock looked over at her, then back to Jim. "Precisely," he said, in a cold tone clearly meant for Jim, still pinning the blond with his gaze as he stepped around him. Jim blinked, annoyed. "Whatever our lives might have been," Spock continued, moving over to the captain's chair, hands behind his back. "If the time continuum wasn't disrupted…Our destinies have changed. Mr. Sulu, plot a course for the Laurentian System, warp factor three," Spock ordered, sitting carefully in the command chair.

"Spock, don't do that," Jim said, frustrated but voice a bit gentler as he moved toward Spock. His voice rose. "Running back to the rest of the fleet, for a-a-a confab is a massive waste of time."

"These are the orders issued by Captain Pike when he left the ship," Spock said over Jim.

"He also ordered us to go back and get him—Spock you are captain now, you have to make the—"

"I am aware of my responsibilities, Mr. Kirk," Spock interrupted.

"Every second we waste Nero's getting closer to his next target!" Jim yelled.

"That is correct and why I am ordering you to accept the fact that I alone—" Once again, they spoke over each other.

"I will not allow us to go backwards!"

"—Am in command. I alone—"

McCoy joined in and their voices mingled. Kirk's was the first to become distinguishable again.

"—Instead of hunting Nero down!"

"Security," Spock said suddenly, rising. "Escort him out."

Two security officers pulled his arms behind his back and dragged him off the platform. Suddenly Kirk moved and one redshirted officer fell to the ground with a cry of pain. Kirk elbowed the other down as the first surged up again. "Enough, Jim!" McCoy yelled. Kirk was fighting the security officers hard, when from behind, a warm, long-fingered hand grabbed his shoulder and he collapsed.

"Get him off this ship," Spock ordered, a hint of tension in his voice.

* * *

Spock was not sure how much longer he could keep going this way. He had had an inordinate amount of stress thrust at him in a very short period of time. On top of that, the onslaught of so many powerful emotions in an equally short amount of time… Spock was, as the saying went, on a very short fuse.

He had not slept in over thirty hours now. As Vulcans could operate on much less sleep than humans if necessary, this normally would have been of little consequence. But he had been—was still—in a state of constant tension. This was taking its toll on both his body and his mind, and he found himself wishing for a moment of rest. They were on the way back to the fleet. They should be in no immediate danger. And it was only logical that he be as functional as possible. He relented to his desire and pushed himself out of the captain's chair.

"Mr. Chekov, you have the conn," he said quietly. "If anything should arise that requires my attention, I shall be in my quarters."

"Aye, sir," Chekov replied.

Spock walked off the bridge, catching the worried glance that Uhura threw him, though she remained at her station as he entered the turbolift. The doors slid shut with a familiar whoosh and he told it where to go.

It opened a moment later and he made his way to his quarters. Once there, he waited until his door slid closed, leaving him darkness. Then he closed his eyes and leaned lightly against the wall. He took a few deep, even breaths, before he opened his eyes. Not that it mattered much, because the lights were not on and it was impossible to see. The fact that he got to his bed without bumping into anything clearly said something, though about the tidiness of his quarters or Vulcan memory, there was no way to tell. Perhaps both.

He hesitantly sat on the edge of his bed, still concentrating on keeping his breathing even. Stiffly, slowly, he lowered himself back onto the pillows. Tension hummed through his body. He closed his eyes and concentrated on relaxing his muscles, bit by bit, allowing his mind to sink into a light form of meditation.

Eventually, his shoulders relaxed, his body was limp against the sheets and he was able to allow his mind to wander, thoughts coming and then sliding away again, like sand in a sieve. Once again, his thoughts kept returning to Cadet Kirk.

He replayed their most recent confrontation in his mind. Kirk had been obstinate, to the point of insubordination. He had been yelling, insisting upon chasing the _Narada_ and attempting to rescue Captain Pike, a fool's errand. Kirk had refused to listen to the reason, refused to yield to the logic Spock was presenting. He was reckless, a danger to himself and to others. He clearly had no respect for authority. And engaging the two security officers in hand-to-hand combat was completely illogical, and, as far as Spock could tell, served no purpose other than to create more trouble for himself. He was on the bridge, outnumbered, with more officers on hand ready and capable of disabling him. Had he instigated his altercation in the corridors, there would have been far fewer observers and a far higher chance of success. He would not have been thrown off the_ Enterprise_ if he had acted more sensibly.

So Spock had nerve-pinched him. It had seemed the simplest way to quiet him at the time. In looking back, he still saw no alternative. And yet… Ejecting Kirk and stranding him on Delta Vega. Was that the correct course of action? Was it, perhaps, too harsh? Surely Kirk, given time, would have calmed down. And surely, it wasn't necessary to maroon him on so dangerous a planet. After all, Delta Vega had yet to evolve. It was an ice planet, and the only life-forms were wild animals that would see Kirk only as a meal.

His emotions, so volatile and close to the surface, had overtaken his better judgment. And now, he regretted it. Kirk, though obstinate and argumentative, had been trying to do what he thought was best. He had only been trying to protect his planet. If he was consumed or froze to death, it would be Spock's responsibility.

It struck him. He was _worried_. He was concerned for Kirk's well-being.

_How odd,_ he mused. _I wonder why._

With this question in mind, he drifted off for a brief nap, instructing the computer to wake him in forty-five minutes.

* * *

Jim opened his eyes and moaned. Looking around, he realized he was in an escape pod. He stabbed at the touch screen. "Computer, where am I?"

"Location: Delta Vega," it responded in an automated female voice. _Oh, great,_ he thought. _An ice planet. _Jim pulled the bandaging off his hand. "Class M planet," the computer continued. "Unsafe. There is a Starfleet outpost fourteen kilometers to the northeast. Remain in you pod until—"

"Ugh, you gotta be kidding me," Jim groaned, shoving open the pod door.

Mere seconds later, he had the duffel bag/survival kit slung on his back and he was resolutely climbing the twenty-foot wall of ice that surrounded the pod. He dragged himself over the edge, fingers numb, and stood to take in his surroundings. Ice. Snow covered rocks here and there, but mostly, ice. Long, flat plains of ice. Resigned, he pulled on the cold-weather clothes he found in the duffel and began trekking across the freezing terrain. As he walked, the sun dimmed, snow began to fall, and a vicious wind kicked up.

Just for something to do, he pulled out a recorder and began to make a log, wind howling in the background. "Stardate: 2258.42. Four, uh, four…whatever. Acting Captain Spock, has marooned me on Delta Vega, in what I believe to be a violation of security protocol forty-nine point oh-nine, governing the treatment of prisoners aboard a starshi—"

He stopped mid-word and looked around. When he was facing back the way he had come, he saw something approaching through the snow, rapidly growing larger.

It came into view, some weird cross of a polar bear and a gorilla, but on steroids and with teeth as long as Jim's forearm. It roared, and Jim did the logical thing. He yelled, turned, and ran like a bat outta hell. He stumbled, fell to his knees, but jumped back up and ran on.

The polarilla lunged, almost on top of him, when the ground burst open underneath it with a force that knocked Jim off his feet. He turned as an even bigger monster mauled the polarilla. This one was even uglier, something between a crab and an insect, neither from Earth, with a maw that vaguely resembled a Venus Fly Trap.

_Oh, shit,_ Jim thought, scrambling backward frantically. It tossed the polarilla away and turned on Jim. Jim got to his feet and sprinted away, the thing only feet behind him. Jim was looking over his shoulder at the thing when he felt the ground crumble beneath his feet and suddenly he was falling, head over feet over shoulders—the crab-bug roared over the edge and then it was falling too. Jim sprawled to a stop on a patch of black ice, looked up rather dazedly, saw the thing tumbling toward him, yelled again and took off. And not a moment too soon because it hit the ground inches from him, right where he had lying.

It got to it's feet, roaring, and ran after him. Yelling incoherently, Jim spotted a cave entrance and made a beeline for it. Hopefully, the thing would be too big to follow.

He dived inside. It turned out that the entrance was too small for the crab-bug, but apparently it didn't matter, because it just smashed it's way in. Jim dodged stalagmites and stalactites frantically.

A sticky rope-like tendril—the creatures tongue—yanked one of Jim's legs out from under him and dragged him on his stomach like a fish on a line. _Oh, shit,_ Jim thought again. _Shit, I'm gonna be eaten by a crab-bug, shit, shit, shit…._

He rolled onto his back, fighting against the pull.

Out of nowhere, a figure stepped into view, brandishing a burning torch at the thing, forcing it to retreat. It immediately dropped Jim and backed up with each swing of the torch, until, with a last angry screech, it galloped away.

Jim propped himself up on his elbows, staring in bewildered amazement at his savior. The man turned and Jim saw, with even more confusion, that it was a very old Vulcan. His short cropped hair was silver, his skin wrinkled. _What is an old Vulcan doing on Delta Vega?_ When he saw Jim, his features shifted to a subtle expression of surprise and, strangely, pain.

"James T. Kirk," he said, in a voice that quavered only slightly with age, though his tone held a hint of sorrow.

Jim stared up at him_. –the hell?_ "Excuse me?"

"How did you find me?" the Vulcan asked, sounding curious. As though Jim had been looking for him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Jim finally managed, getting to his feet. "How do you know my name?"

"I have been, and always shall be, your friend," the Vulcan told him, voice thicker, heavier. His words sounded as though they had been said before, in a different time, a different place. A more intimate setting.

Jim chuckled, beyond being gentle. "Look, uh. I—I don't know you."

"I am Spock," he said, with more insistence.

Jim eyed him suspiciously. "…Bullshit."

* * *

They were sitting around a fire, deeper in the cave and the elderly Vulcan was stoking the flames, saying, "It is remarkably pleasing to see you again, old friend. Especially after the events of today."

Jim got to his feet. "Sir, I—I appreciate what you did for me today, but if you were Spock, you'd know, we're not friends, _at all_. You hate me, you marooned me here for mutiny."

"Mutiny?" the elder Spock questioned, eyebrows raising and tone surprised.

"Yes."

"You are not the captain?"

Jim started to say something, then shook his head. "No. No, uh. You're the captain. Pike was taken hostage."

Spock looked startled, but then he asked. "By Nero?"

Jim turned sharply. There was a pause as Jim looked at Spock, wind howling in the background. "What d'you know about him?" Jim asked.

Spock's eyes turned toward the fire as he nodded heavily. "He is a particularly troubled Romulan." Spock rose with surprising agility. "Please, allow me." He reached for Jim's face, "It will be easier."

Jim backed up a little. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What're you doing?"

"Our minds," Spock explained. "One and together."

He placed his fingers along Jim's face and suddenly there was more than his mind in his mind. Another presence, warm and comfortable and it felt strange but also _right_, somehow…But his attention shifted as Spock began to narrate, feeding Jim images and scenes. _"One hundred and twenty-nine years from now, a star will explode and threaten to destroy the galaxy." An image not his own flashed into his mind, as clear as if he were looking at it now; the stars, flashing by. It was like looking out a window while in warp. "And that is where I'm from Jim," Spock continued, his voice echoing in Jim's head. "The future."_

_They passed through an asteroid belt, approaching a burning yellow star. "The star went supernova." The star exploded in a brilliant white flash. "I promised the Romulans, I would save their planet." A new image, of elder Spock and two other Vulcans swam into view, to be replaced with what looked like a shipyard. "We outfitted our fastest ship." The image changed again, to a cylindrical tube full of a huge ball of a red, shiny substance. "Using red matter, I would create a black hole, which would absorb the exploding star." The little ship, appropriately named the _Jellyfish_, zoomed through a dusky blue sky and into space._

"_I was en route," he got a flash of elder Spock at the controls, then the vision shifted to a planet. "When the unthinkable happened. The supernova destroyed Romulus." The bright light of the dying star reached out and swept against Romulus and the planet crumbled to ash. The image then went back to Spock in the ship. "I had little time," he was extracting a marble sized bit of the red matter. "I had to extract the red matter and shoot it into the supernova." The tube whirled into the sun and a black hole appeared. Back to Spock in the_ Jellyfish_. "As I began my return trip, I was intercepted." Nero's face on a vidscreen. The images were coming faster now. "He called himself Nero. Last of the Romulan Empire. In my attempt to escape, both of us were pulled into the black hole." The _Narada,_ disappearing, then emerging in front of a blazing sun. "Nero went through first. He was the first to arrive." The _USS Kelvin_, bombarded with phaser fire. Nero's face. "Nero and his crew spent the next twenty-five years awaiting my arrival. But what was years for Nero," the _Jellyfish,_ flying through the black hole. "Was only seconds for me. I went through the black hole. Nero, was waiting for me. He held me responsible for the loss of his world." Spock being led down his ship's ramp into the _Narada,_ and forced to his knees. "He captured my vessel, and spared my life, for one reason. So that I would know his pain." Spock on Delta Vega. "He beamed me here so that I could observe his vengeance." Spock, watching Vulcan consume itself. "As he was helpless to save his planet," his voice grew thicker and Jim could hear the barely restrained tears. "I would be helpless to save mine. Billions of lives, lost. Because of me, Jim. Because…I failed."_

The fingers moved, the presence was gone, and Jim gasped with the sorrow and pain that were raging suddenly within him, uncontrollable. He was panting, eyes bright and he looked at Spock helplessly as the Vulcan said quietly, "Forgive me. Emotional transference is an effect of the mind meld."

Jim was already walking away, stopping fifteen feet away, back to Spock, chest heaving as he panted. "So you do feel," Jim said, throat tight, blinking rapidly. It was a needless question. He was experiencing all the sadness and pain and anger that were a tidal wave inside of Spock. It had welled up, spilling into him, from the moment Spock said 'I would know his pain.'_ So many people, so much guilt, and lives, so many lives….should have saved them….all my fault…_Jim knew these weren't his thoughts, but he felt them as if they had originated deep in his heart, an aching pain.

But Spock answered. "Yes."

"Going back in time you changed all our lives," Jim said, brain working frantically.

"Jim," Jim slowly turned to face elder Spock. "We must go." Spock walked toward him and past him. "There is a Starfleet outpost not far from here."

"Wait," Jim called. Spock turned expectantly. "Where you came from," Jim began hesitantly. "Did I know my father?"

"Yes," Spock replied. "You often spoke of him as being your inspiration for joining Starfleet. He proudly lived to see you become captain of the _Enterprise._"

"Captain," Jim repeated.

"A ship we must return you to as soon as possible." Spock turned and walked out, and Jim stared into the fire for a moment, considering, before he followed. _Captain…_

* * *

McCoy put his face up near Spock's. "You know, back home we got a saying; if you're gonna ride in the Kentucky Derby, you don't leave your prize stallion in the stables!"

"A curious metaphor doctor, as a stallion must be first be broken, before it can reach its potential," Spock replied coolly.

McCoy's face darkened in fury and he jabbed a finger at Spock. "My god, man, you could at least_ act_ like it was a hard decision!" he exclaimed in a half-whisper.

"I intend to assist in the effort to reestablish communication with Starfleet," Spock informed the doctor firmly. A hint of mockery crept into his voice. "However, if crew morale would be better served by my roaming the halls weeping, I will gladly defer to your medical expertise." McCoy glared.

The turbolift opened and Sarek and a security officer walked in.

"Excuse me," Spock said, before he brushed past the doctor.

McCoy, scowling, looked after him for a second before stalking off in the opposite direction, hissing "Green-blooded hobgoblin," under his breath.

* * *

Jim and elder Spock reached the Starfleet outpost at last and, with a little effort, managed to pull the doors open with a loud creak. Lights snapped on along the hallway as Jim, heaving, yanked the door closed behind them. Words chanted in a strange tongue hit their ears. Jim pulled down his hood and called, "Hello?"

There was a metallic crash and a single person emerged from a door and came toward them. Spock pulled the two flaps of his hood in front of his face apart as the little creature stopped in front of them. It pulled little goggles off of its beady black eyes and rested them on its forehead. He—Jim _thought_ it was a he—had wrinkled green skin that ridged along his cheeks. His head was about level with Jim's waist.

The green alien led them down the hall and into an open hanger where a lone man was reclining, feet propped up on a messy metal desk. The green guy slapped him on the leg. "What?" the man demanded in an aggrieved tone.

He reached up to move a band of cloth from his eyes, and spotted the impromptu visitors. His eyebrows rose and his lips pressed together. "You realize how unacceptable thes is?" he asked in a thick Scottish brogue.

"Fascinating," Spock murmured, staring at the man.

"What?" Jim asked.

The Scotsman ignored them. "Okay, Ah'm sure yer jest doin' yer job, but cud ye not come a wee bit sooner?" He sat up, taking his feet off the desk. "Six months Ah've been here, livin' off Starfleet protein nibs—" he said it like a dirty word, throwing a bag of the stuff into the air. "—and the promise of a gud meal. And Ah know exactly wha's goin' here, okay?" he jabbed a finger at them and leaned back, eyes wide in a pouting way. "Punishment, isn't it? Ongoing. For something that was clearly an accident."

"You are Montgomery Scott," Spock said, in the same tone he had used when he said Jim's name for the first time, though without the sorrow.

"You know him?" Jim demanded incredulously.

"Aye, tha's me. Yer in the righ' place. Unless there's another hardworking, equally starved Starfleet officer around."

The green alien spoke up. "Me."

Scott yelled something in another language. "Shut up!" he cried indignantly. "Ye don't eat anythin'! Ye can eat like a bean, and yer done!" He pinched his thumb and index together on the word bean, before turning back to the men. "Ah'm talkin' about fud. Real fud." He stood up. "But, yer here now, so thank you, where is it?" He walked over to a different desk and plopped down.

"You are in fact the Mr. Scott who postulated the theory of transwarp beaming," Spock clarified.

"Tha's what Ah'm talkin' about!" Scotty exclaimed. "How'd ye think Ah wound up here? I'd a lee-tle debate with my instructor on the issue of relativistic physics and how it pertains to subspace travel. He seemed to think that the range of transporting something like—like a grapefruit, was limited to about a hundred miles. Ah told him that I cud no' only beam a grapefruit from one planet to the adjacent planet in the sem system, which is easy, by the way—" Jim was staring at Scott with an expression that clearly said 'this guy is nuts.' "—Ah cud do it with a life form So," he lifted a metal mug. "I test'd it on Admiral Archer's prize beagle."

"I know that dog, what happened to it?" Jim asked, addressing Scott for the first time. Though he was still looking at the man like he wasn't sure he was real.

Scott gulped his drink, looking guilty. "Ah'll tell you when it reappears." He cleared his throat and held up a hand, saying quickly, "Ah don't know, I do feel bad abou' that."

"What if I told you that your transwarp theory was correct?" Spock injected. "That it is indeed possible to beam onto a ship that is traveling at warp speed?"

"I—I think if that equation had been discovered, Ah'd a heard abou' it," Scott answered, looking a tad confused.

"The reason you haven't heard of it Mr. Scott," Spock replied. "Is because you haven't discovered it yet."

Scott's face took on a comical expression of shock. He stood. "Ah'm sor—Wha—Ar—" he stammered. "Are ye from the future?" he asked.

"Yeah, he is," Jim was quick to respond. "I'm not."

"Well, tha's brilliant," Scott said. "Da they still have sandwiches there?"

* * *

They were on the old, run-down shuttlecraft that was the only transport off of Delta Vega, trying to catch the _Enterprise_.

"Except, the thing is," Scott said to Spock, "Even if Ah did believe you—where yer from, wha' Ah've done—which, I _don't_, by the way, yer still talking about beaming aboard the _Enterprise_ while she's traveling faster than light, without a proper receivin' pad." He was moving around the shuttle now. "Get off there!" he cried at the alien—whose name, they had learned, was Keenser. "Es not a climbing frib!" Jim helped Keenser down, while Scott hit some buttons on a screen and continued. "The notion of transwarp beaming is like tryin' ta hit a bullet with a smaller bullet, whilst wearing a blindfold, riding a horse." He came to Spock's elbow and peered at the screen in front of the Vulcan. "Wha's that?"

"Your equation for achieving transwarp beaming," Spock replied, rising and moving away.

"Get out of it," Scott muttered, dropping into the chair. A second later his mouth dropped open. "Imagine that. It never occurred ta me ta think of spece as the thing that was moving."

"You're coming with us, right?" Jim was asking the elder Spock, a bit anxious.

Spock turned to face him. "No, Jim. That is not my destiny."

Jim's eyebrows rose. "Your dest—? He—the other Spock is not gonna believe me, only you can explain—"

Spock spoke over him. Apparently, interrupting Jim was one thing the two Spock's had in common. "Under no circumstances can he be made aware of my existence. You must promise me this."

"You're telling me I—I—I can't tell _you,_ that I'm following your own orders? Why not? What happens?" Jim wanted to know, sounding incredulous.

"Jim, this is one rule you cannot break," Spock insisted imperatively. "To stop Nero, you alone must take command of your ship."

"How?" Jim challenged. "Over your dead body?"

Spock almost shrugged. "Preferably not. However, there is Starfleet regulation six-one-nine. Six-one-nine states that any command officer who's emotionally compromised by the mission at hand, must resign said command."

"So, yo—you're saying that I have to emotionally compromise you—guys," Jim repeated, just for clarification. Not because he was confused, or because his brain was starting to hurt. Not at all. _Well, I'm sure not looking forward to _that, he thought, in a resigned sort of way.

"Jim," Spock began heavily, "I just lost my planet. I can tell you—I am emotionally compromised. What you must do is get me to show it."

Their gazes locked, Jim's confused and a bit upset, Spock's serious and steady.

"Aye, then, laddie, live or die, let's get this over with," Scott's voice came out of nowhere and Jim, after one last, long, worried look at Spock, climbed onto the railed transporter pad. Next to him, Keenser was trying to stand on the pad with the engineer. "Go on. Ye cannae come with me, go on."

Jim leaned on the railing and looked at elder Spock. "You know, coming back in time, changing history," a hint of a smile danced on his lips. "That's cheating."

Spock raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly. "A trick I learned from an old friend." A small smile touched his lips. He reached back and pressed the transport controls. Turning back, he met Jim's eyes and held up the Vulcan salute. "Live long," he said deeply, "And prosper."

Jim nodded slightly.

Spock continued to hold up the salute as the bright white gold swirled around the pair and consumed them, and they were gone, transported across space to the ship that, to him, would always belong to no one but his old friend, James Kirk.

He blinked back tears.

* * *

**A/N:** As per usual, I beg you to review, because it is the sole thing that keeps me updating in a semi-timely manner. I am anxious as always to know what you thought.


	5. Assignment: Earth

**Love Means Living And Dying**

**Disclaimer: **um…no.

**A/N: **I am SO sorry that this took so long! It would have been at least a week earlier, but this family crisis came up, and I had to temporarily move out, and the place I was staying didn't have a working computer. URRGH. BUT I worked my butt off typing this up for you, and I actually got it done when I promised myself I would! This is the last chapter that is mainly movie! *CHEERS*

Of course, this goes out to **adevotedreader**, whose encouragement pushed me to type faster. **Andalusia**, who I met over her awesome Chulu piece 'Do As I Say', whose conversation is delightful, and whose beautiful writing made me want to do better. You ROCK, girl! (I advise you to check her out!). My cousin, whose eternal love and support is amazing and absolutely uplifting. And of course, Highness, my best friend, without whom, I would never have found Star Trek, and would never have survived. Thank you so much for everything you do for me. You guys keep me going.

Now, enough chatter. Let us dive back into the world of Jim and Spock…

**Chapter Four: Assignment: Earth**

_Oh, hell,_ Jim thought nervously as they were dragged through the ship. _How in hell am I supposed to emotionally compromise a repressed Vulcan? Old Spock said that he already was emotionally compromised, but how—_how_—am I supposed to make him show it? The only way I know how to emotionally compromise anybody involves sexual harassment, and I think Spock would probably kill me if I jumped him. Not that that's much of an exciting prospect anyway_. He _so_ did not need that image in his head.

_I guess—I guess I'm gonna have to piss him off, _Jim decided reluctantly. _I do seem to have a knack for it. _He sighed almost imperceptibly. The best way to anger Spock would be to go straight for the heart. The open wound. _Oh, hell,_ he thought again, rubbing his forehead wearily._ His mom. Oh, I _really_ don't want to do this! _He almost groaned aloud as the turbolift came to a halt.

Quickly, he set his shoulders and lifted his chin. The door slid open and the security officers tugged Jim and Scott onto the bridge.

Spock marched up to them. _Oh_ hell. Jim was feeling slightly panicky now. But, true to form, he showed no sign of it. A hint of a smirk touched his face. _He's gonna _kill_ me!_

Spock ignored Jim completely and spoke directly to Scott. "Who are you?"

Jim and Scott spoke simultaneously. "Ah'm with him."

"He's with me."

"We are traveling at warp speed," Spock continued coolly. "How did you manage to beam aboard this ship?"

"Hey, you're the genius, you figure it out," Jim fired back, smirking.

"As acting captain of this vessel, I order you to answer the question." Finally he was looking at Kirk.

Jim held his gaze. "Well, I'm not telling, Acting Captain." Spock stared at him in silence. "What, d—? What, now, that doesn't frustrate you does it, my lack of cooperation, that-that doesn't make you angry—"

Spock abruptly turned back to Scott. "Are you a member of Starfleet?"

Scott, seeming a bit surprised at being addressed, glanced at Jim. "Ah-um-yes. Cannae get a towel, please?"

"Under penalty of court martial, I order you to explain to me how you were able to beam aboard this ship while moving at warp."

"Well," Scott started.

Jim cut him off, staring straight at Spock. "Don't answer him."

"You _will _answer me," Spock said tightly. It was not a request.

Scott looked between them for a moment, then, grinning, said "Ah'd rather not take sides."

Jim stepped forward. "What is it with you, Spock?" Jim asked. He locked Spock's eyes with his own. "Your planet was just destroyed, your mother murdered and…you're not even upset." His voice was soft, questioning.

"If you are presuming that these experiences in any way impede my ability to command this ship, you are mistaken." Spock's voice was controlled, but Jim could see the anger boiling dangerously just below the surface.

"And yet, you were the one who said fear was necessary for command, I mean, did you_ see_, his ship, do you see what he did?"

"Yes, of course I did," Spock responded quickly, quietly. He sounded almost hurt.

"So are you afraid or aren't you?" Jim challenged.

"I will not allow you to lecture me about the merits of emotion." His tone was even tighter, tension humming through his body. His words quivered ever so slightly. He was close, Jim could see.

"Then why don't you stop me?" Jim taunted, his own body subconsciously tensing in anticipation. _Just a little more, _he thought.

"Step away from me, Mr. Kirk." Jim knew that this was a warning, not an order, but even though his brain was yelling, '_hello, Vulcans are three times stronger than humans, you idiot...!_' he ignored it and got right up in Spock's face.

"What is it like not to feel anger? Or heartbreak? Or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you?"

"Back away from me." Spock's voice was low, dangerous, thrumming with bottled emotion, but still Jim ignored him.

"You feel _nothing_!" he yelled. "It must not even _compute_ for you!" He ignored his brain and the cruel words burst out. "_You NEVER loved her!_"

Spock roared and slammed his fist into Jim's jaw. Jim fell back against Cupcake, dazed. Spock grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulled him around, and threw him against a console. Jim surged up and tried to hit back, but Spock knocked aside his punches with frightening ease. Spock backhanded Jim in the stomach, and Jim stumbled back, doubling over. Spock advanced and Jim barely got his arms up in time to block the overhand blow.

But Spock was inhumanely fast and slapped his hand into Kirk's side, then his face again, sending the blond flying into another console. The human clambered up to block two more punches, before the Vulcan gave him another backhand, this one in the jaw, and he fell back, rolling along the console.

He fell onto his back and Spock's hand was immediately around his throat. Jim tugged at the burning wrist, trying futilely to breathe, but Spock didn't budge.

Jim looked up into black, fury-filled eyes. Spock was going to kill him. _Better than being eaten by a crab-thing,_ Jim thought dizzily. _Come on, Spock, let go,_ Jim pleaded. _Oh man, I'm gonna die…_

"Spock." A cultured, disapproving, stern voice broke the utter silence on the bridge. Spock held on, and then…

Jim saw reason, confusion, enter those dark eyes, saw the anger melt. Spock's eyes traveled down to the hand around Jim's throat and widened marginally. He jerked his hand away and backed up, shock and fear on his face.

Jim wheezed, gasping for air through a bruised throat, but he kept his eyes on Spock.

Spock turned slowly to face his father and Nyota, who had a look of fear and horror on her face. Breathing heavily, he averted his eyes.

Jim pushed himself up on his elbows, watching carefully. Spock walked over to McCoy, head down, looking shaken to the core. He did not look at the doctor. "Doctor, I am no longer…fit for duty. I hereby relinquish my command based on the fact that I have been…emotionally compromised. Please note the time and date in the ship's log." His voice was trembling.

Without another word, he walked off. Uhura walked up to him and he looked at her for a brief moment. She nodded and he left the bridge alone.

For a long moment, there was silence.

"I like this ship," Scott declared loudly. "Y'know, it's exciting!"

"Well, congratulations, Jim," McCoy growled. "Now we've got no captain and no goddamn First Officer to replace him."

"Yeah we do." Jim shoved himself off the panel he was sitting on and moved to the command chair.

"What?"

"Pike made him First Officer," Sulu told everyone as Jim settled into the chair.

"You gotta be kiddin' me!" McCoy exclaimed furiously.

Jim cut his eyes at his friend. "Thanks for the support," he said dryly.

Uhura stopped beside his chair. "I sure hope you know what you're doing. _Captain_."

Several snappy comebacks popped into his head, but he simply said, "So do I."

He hit the button for ship's intercom. "Attention crew of the _Enterprise,_ this is James Kirk. Mr. Spock has resigned commission and advanced me to acting captain. I know you were all expecting to regroup with the fleet, but I'm ordering a pursuit course of the enemy ship to Earth, I want all departments at battle stations and ready in ten minutes. Either we're going down…or they are. Kirk out."

_This isn't how I imagined becoming a Captain,_ he thought grimly.

Shoving that thought away, he called to Sulu and Chekov. They had work to do.

* * *

Spock heard the announcement numbly as he made his way through the corridors. His emotions were raging inside him, his thoughts whirling.

Fear. _How could I lose control in such a way? How could I—? I could have killed him! I would have, had Father not called out to me._

He was angry, so angry. At Kirk, suggesting he never loved her. _How dare he?_ At himself. If he had reached out sooner, kept his hold on her—_No, illogical, how I could have known—but if I had only reached out—_

But above all, anger at Nero. The bastard responsible for the death of his planet, his home, his _mother_. The bastard who took away everything he held most dear.

Before he knew it, he was in the transporter room, climbing onto the pad. His mind was still whirling as he stared blankly at the place where she would have been. Where she _should_ have been.

He knew when his father came up behind up but said nothing. He desired solitude. He hoped his father would just leave.

"Speak your mind, Spock," Sarek said.

_Nero—bastard—Mother—if I had only reached out—Mother!—Jim Kirk—always loved her—Nero—_"That would be unwise," Spock replied quietly.

"What is necessary, is never unwise."

There was a pause. "I am as conflicted as I once was as a child," he admitted.

"You will always be a child of two worlds, Spock," Sarek told him. "I am grateful for this. And for you."

Spock turned to his father, tortured. "I feel anger for the one who took Mother's life. An anger I cannot control."

Sarek walked to him slowly. "I believe, that she would say…do not try to." Spock looked at him. "You asked me once, why I married your mother. I married her because I loved her," he whispered. Pain was in his face. Spock's eyes widened slightly.

Sarek turned and walked heavily out of the room. Spock dropped his eyes. His anger ebbed slightly in the face of this information.

He returned to his quarters and methodically set up his candles. Settling into a meditative pose, he closed his eyes and evened his breathing.

His face relaxed. Until that moment, he had not realized how much it had disturbed him to think that his mother, whom he loved so dearly, had not been loved by the one she loved so much. The thought that his father had married her only because it was logical, when she so blatantly and freely adored him, caused Spock no small amount of pain. He simply could not stand the idea that his mother's love, which was so precious to him, was not appreciated and reciprocated. He had always known, by his father's actions, that Sarek loved Amanda. But his father was so _very_ logical. Some part of him always doubted that Sarek could do anything so emotional. Now, he knew for certain that that part of him was wrong.

Concentrating on the relief brought on by his father's words, he relaxed his mind and began to calm himself. The anger was still there, but now it was reined in, in a tight box, under his control. The sadness and pain could be shoved away to be examined at a later date. His anger at Kirk…. He replayed the fight in his mind, watching objectively, keeping his emotions in check.

With each blow that connected with skin, he had absorbed a bit of Kirk's emotions. At the time, they had been eclipsed by his own rage. Now, he could examine them more closely. His brow furrowed. _Strange…_ He sensed no malevolence, no contempt…not even anger. In fact he sensed very little, except focus and a tinge of fear.

He puzzled over it for several minutes, but could determine no solution. There was no time to ponder the matter further. He climbed to his feet. Swiftly, he blew out his candles and slid the mat under his bed.

He paused before his door. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he strode out of his quarters and headed for the bridge.

* * *

On the bridge, Jim, Sulu, Chekov, and McCoy were discussing tactics.

Well…sort of.

"Whatever the case, we need to get aboard Nero's ship undetected," Jim was saying.

"We can't just go in there guns blazing, Jim," Bones retorted.

"I'm telling you, the math doesn't support—" Sulu muttered as Chekov tapped eagerly on Jim's shoulder.

"Keptin Kirk, Keptin Kirk!"

"Keptin Kirk!" he said again, as Jim responded, "Yes, Mr. Chekov, what is it?"

McCoy, Sulu and Uhura all shifted their attention to the prodigy.

"Based on ze _Narada_'s course from Wulcan," Chekov began quickly, "I hawe projected zat Nero will trawel past Saturn. Like you said, we need to stay inwisible to Nero, or he'll destroy us." The matter-of-fact way he said this almost made Jim want to laugh. Scott—Jim had taken to calling him Scotty—came up to the group, listening intently as he rubbed one ear with a towel, as the boy continued.

"Eef Mr. Scott can get us to warp factor four and eef we drop out of warp behind one of Saturn's moons, say, Titan, ze magnetic distortion from ze planet's rings will make us inwisible to Nero's sensors. From zere, as long as ze drill is not actiwated, we can beam aboard ze enemy's ship."

"Aye, that might work," Scotty piped up. Jim considered it, mind racing.

"Wait a minute, kid," McCoy said. "How old're you?"

"Sewenteen, sir," Chekov chirped happily.

"Oh—Oh good, he's seventeen," Bones said sarcastically, turning to Jim.

A new voice cut into the discussion. "Doctor." They jerked around to see Spock standing in the doorway as if the fight had never happened. He looked perfectly calm, in control. "Mr. Chekov is correct," he continued, stepping down toward them. "I can confirm his telemetry. If Mr. Sulu is able to maneuver us into position, I can beam aboard Nero's ship, steal back the black hole device, and if possible, bring back Captain Pike."

Jim, who had been looking at Spock intently, regret and shame filling him, spoke up. "I won't allow you to do that, Mr. Spock." He didn't want to put the Vulcan in any more danger. _I've hurt you enough for one day_. He felt strangely protective of the man who stood before him. _Besides, _he thought, _I think we could be friends. I don't want you killed before I can find out. And apologize._

"Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry," Spock stated evenly. "Our cultural similarities will make it easier for me to access the ship's computer to locate the device." His eyes traveled down for a moment, before coming back up to them, almost defiant. "Also, my mother was human. Which makes Earth the only home I have left."

Jim felt a rush of compassion and camaraderie. He might be really, _really_ good at hiding it, but Spock wanted to protect Earth as much they did. Maybe more. He cared, _a lot_.

Jim stepped forward until he was standing right in front of Spock. His blue eyes searched the Vulcan face, apprehension shining in them, as well as hesitancy and apology.

"Then I'm coming with you," he replied quietly.

Spock met Jim's eyes. "I would cite regulation, but I know _you _would simply ignore it."

Jim smiled, almost laughed. "See," he said dryly. "We are getting to know each other." _He didn't punch me this time. Well, that's progress. He didn't even look angry, not that that says much, with Vulcans. _Jim was happy that he had at least a chance of making things right.

He clapped Spock on the shoulder and moved past him. After a moment, Spock looked over his shoulder after the blond, and his brows furrowed ever so slightly in confusion.

* * *

Sulu's fingers flew over his console. "All stop in three…two…one."

The _Enterprise_ fell out of warp and into the noxious red gasses around Saturn. "Give me one-quarter impulse burst for five seconds," Sulu ordered. "I'll do the rest with thrusters. On my mark."

"Aye," Chekov responded softly.

"Fire."

They rose out of the gaseous cloud to hover over the rings of Saturn. Sulu breathed an almost imperceptible sigh of relief and hit the ship comm on his panel. "Transporter room. We are in position above Titan."

"Really?" Scotty replied in surprise. "Fine job, Mr. Sulu, well done."

The doors to the transporter room opened and Jim, Spock, and Uhura strode in, the men sporting utility belts around their waists.

"How are we, Scotty?" Jim asked.

"Unbelievably, sir, the ship is in position." Jim paused over the console and hit the comm. Behind him, Spock was in place on the pad.

"Whatever happens Mr. Sulu, if you think you have the tactical advantage, you fire on that ship, even if we're still on board, that's an order."

There was hardly a pause before the "Yes, sir," came, but Sulu's tone was reluctant.

"Otherwise we'll contact the _Enterprise_ when we're ready to be beamed back."

"Good luck," Sulu said.

Jim cut the connection and stepped onto the pad beside Spock, who was now making out with Uhura. _WAIT…_ Jim did a double take a moment later. His facial expression could only be described by the single thought running through his mind. _What…the…HELL?_

He was totally bewildered. Spock was a VULCAN. They didn't DO that. And Uhura…what the hell was she thinking? Sure she was smart, even reasonable, but she was almost as emotional as Jim. _What. The. FUCK?_

But it was also kinda…interesting. _What does she_ see _in him? What does_ he _see in_ her? _And _where _had he learned to kiss like that? Surely he hasn't done this kind of thing before…!_

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Jim was considering clearing his throat, or even just saying, 'Yo, mission, Romulans, destruction of life as we know it, ring any bells? No?' when they broke apart.

"I will be back," Spock whispered.

"You better be," she responded fiercely. Her eyes were wet. "I'll be monitoring your frequency."

"Thank you, Nyota," he said, with so much sincerity that she might have just saved the life of his firstborn. Jim's brow furrowed in confusion and realization. Uhura glanced over at him, then walked off the pad, past a Scotty who peeked at her, wide-eyed.

Jim leaned toward Spock. "So, her first name's Nyota?"

"I have no comment on the matter," he said quickly.

Scotty spoke. "Okey-dokey then, if there's any common sense in the design o' the enemy's ship, Ah shuld be puttin' ya somewhere in the cargo bay. Shouldn't be a soul in sight."

"Energize," Jim commanded.

The transporter hummed to life, white light swirled around them, and their ship was gone.

They materialized in the cargo bay, just as Scotty had predicted. Unfortunately, that was as far as his gift of prophecy extended. Romulans were scattered all around the space.

There was a pause as the two looked around. Then the Romulans seemed to get over their shock, and started shouting at each other. Kirk and Spock started to run, firing phasers as they went. They ducked behind a low wall, and simultaneously rose up again, firing.

They moved away to get a better angle on the last few Romulans. Spock paused and pulled his trigger several times and Romulans dropped like flies. Jim continued forward and carefully took out the last enemy.

He felt someone creep up to his shoulder and didn't have to look to know with absolute certainty that it was Spock.

"I'll cover you," he breathed.

"Are you certain?" the Vulcan asked.

Jim nodded once. "Yeah, I gotcha."

Spock stood cautiously and edged forward. Jim paused, reset his phaser to kill, and followed.

Spock crouched by a fallen Romulan—the only one still alive, as Jim had changed his phaser to stun before shooting him—and placed his fingers on the man's face. A Romulan passing by caught sight of them and lifted his weapon, but he went down immediately and Jim moved to Spock's elbow, alert for danger.

"Do you know where it is?" Jim asked under his breath. "The black hole device?"

Spock's eyes opened and his hand moved from the Romulan's face. "And Captain Pike," he answered, standing. Together, the two made their way carefully through the ship.

Eventually, they came to what appeared to be a hanger. Jim stared up at a ship he recognized. The _Jellyfish_, Ambassador Spock's vessel. The duo boarded the craft quickly.

"I foresee a complication," Spock said as they moved through the ship. "The design of this ship is far more advanced than I had anticipated."

The computer came to life. "Voice print and face recognition analysis enabled. Welcome back, Ambassador Spock."

"Wow, that's weird," Jim said casually, moving past Spock and avoiding eye contact.

"Computer. What is your manufacturing origin?" Spock asked, an intent expression on his face.

"Stardate 2387. Commissioned by the Vulcan Science Academy."

Spock thought for a moment, then followed Jim, finding him on the bridge. "It appears that you have been keeping important information from me," Spock announced.

Jim turned as Spock approached him, so they were suddenly standing face-to-face, inches apart.

"You'll be able to fly this thing, right?" was Jim's only response.

Spock gave him a calculating look. "Something tells me I already have."

"Good luck." Jim turned and strode away.

"Jim." Jim's step faltered and he turned back. Spock had called him by his first name. _Progress. We are getting somewhere! _He thought triumphantly. "The statistical likelihood that our plan will succeed is less than four point three percent."

"It'll work." Jim tried to leave again, but Spock stepped toward him this time.

"In the event that I do not return, please tell lieutenant Uhura—"

"Spock. It'll work." _You better not die. Uhura would rip my insides out. And I don't particularly want you dead either. It'd be a waste of talent._

Jim looked at Spock a moment more before finally leaving the bridge. Spock stared after him for a second, wondering if it was the last time he would see the young captain. Turning briskly, he sat in the command chair, which instantly began to turn to face the main console and forward window.

"Fascinating."

* * *

Jim sprinted through the hanger. He had to get out before Spock powered all the way up and had to blast out of the hanger. He glanced back one last time. Spock was framed in the circular window.

It would work.

Jim crept through a dank corridor, phaser at the ready. He came to an open platform, one of many protruding from the walls of the huge pit that seemed to take up most of the ship.

Every muscle tensed and he aimed his phaser at the lone figure on the catwalk above his head. Nero.

"Nero, order your men to disable the drill or I will—Ah!"

A phaser rifle slammed into the side of his head, knocking him to the ground. His phaser slid off the edge of the platform. Nero moved quickly to stand over him, a sneer on his lips. "I know your face from Earth's history." He grabbed Jim by the shirt and threw him. He pulled Jim up again and slammed his knee into the blonde's stomach. Nero hit him a few more times before letting the human fall to all fours.

The Romulan yanked Kirk up yet again and this time Jim managed to punch his adversary in the face before getting pounded and tossed away.

* * *

Spock fired the _Jellyfish_'s weapons at the hanger doors until they collapsed, and then he flew free of the _Narada_'s clutching spines, straight toward the blue sphere of Earth.

* * *

"James T. Kirk was considered to be a great man," Nero snarled as he bent over the man in question, his hand around the human throat. "He went on to captain the _USS Enterprise_. But that was another life. A life I will deprive you of just like I did your father."

* * *

Spock's craft whistled through the atmosphere. He fired non-stop at the metal thread that supported the drill, until it shattered. The drill tumbled down and splashed into the ocean, missing the ancient Golden Gate Bridge by mere feet (a lucky thing. The San Franciscans would have been absolutely furious if it had been destroyed).

A surge of triumph went through him. _Yes._

* * *

A voice came over the intercom, telling Nero that the_ Jellyfish_ was gone, and the drill was destroyed.

"Spock!" Nero roared. "Spock!" His hands slipped off Jim's tender neck and the young captain could breathe again.

_Yes!_ he thought. _Way to go, Spock!_

Jim was forgotten as Nero jumped spectacularly to another platform and ran off.

He pulled himself to a semi-sitting position. Then he glanced up. _Shit._

The Romulan with the phaser rifle was standing there, gun in hand, a smirk playing across his face.

_Shit._

* * *

Spock glanced at his comm screen as it came alive. Nero's livid face filled the frame. "Spock. I knew I should have killed you when I had the chance."

Spock then responded with something only Spock would have been able to say under the circumstances. "I hereby confiscate this illegally obtained ship and order you to surrender your vessel."

The channel cut.

Spock pulled his craft into warp as missiles streaked toward him. The _Narada _quickly followed suit.

* * *

Jim leaped off his platform and almost missed the next. His chest slammed into it with a thud, and his arms scrambled. He legs dangled dangerously over the pit that was vaguely reminiscent of the one from Star Wars.

The Romulan landed solidly, on his feet in front of Jim. _Show-off,_ Jim thought. The Romulan reached down and lifted Jim up by his throat.

_This is the third time in one day I've been strangled,_ he thought. _What the hell?_

"Your species is even weaker than I expected," the Romulan told him.

Jim strained to say something. "You can't even speak." The Romulan was smirking again. Jim tried again. The Romulan pulled Jim closer, maneuvering his grip to free Jim's airway slightly. "_What?_" he demanded.

"_I got your gun,_" Jim gasped, drawing it up and pulling the trigger. The Romulan dropped him and he grabbed on to the edge of the platform. The unfortunate Romulan tumbled down into the pit, as Jim pulled himself up, and grabbed the gun.

* * *

Spock set his ship on a collision course. Nero opened fire and Spock narrowly dodged.

"Incoming missiles," the computer told him placidly. "If the ship is hit, the red matter will be ignited."

"Understood." Spock set his jaw, determined. Nero was going to be taken down, even if that meant that Spock had to go down with him. The Earth _would_ be safe.

He didn't see the _Enterprise_ drop out of warp, phasers blazing.

* * *

Jim shot down the guard and went to Captain Pike's side.

"What're you doing here?" Pike asked weakly as Kirk holstered his gun and started working on the restraints binding the Captain to the table.

Pike grabbed the gun and fired and the Romulans who had been sneaking up fell to the ground.

Jim heaved Pike's arm around his shoulder and shouted, "_Enterprise_, now!"

They materialized on the pad and Jim looked over to Spock. A huge grin spread across his face as Spock stepped down from the pad. They were all in one piece!

"Nice timing, Scotty!"

Scotty was laughing delightedly. "I've never beamed three people from two targets onto one pad before!"

The door slid open and medics swarmed in, Bones in front, looking frantic and worried.

"Jim!" McCoy cried, running straight toward him, looking like he wanted grab Jim into a bear hug. The doctor in him led him to take Pike instead.

"Bones!"

They all rushed out of the room. Scotty called after them, feeling a little put out, "That was pretty gud!"

* * *

Spock and Jim walked onto the bridge in step.

"Keptin," Chekov called, smiling. "Ze enemy ship is losing power, zeir shields are down, sir."

"Hail them now," Jim ordered. He and Spock moved to stand in front of the viewscreen.

"Aye."

Nero's face flashed onto the screen, though by the way it flickered, it was clear that the _Narada_ was having a few technical difficulties.

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the _USS Enterprise_. Your ship is compromised. You're too close to the singularity to survive without assistance, which we are willing to provide."

Spock's eyes shifted down, startled. He turned so that he and Jim were shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite directions. "Captain, what are you doing?"

Jim turned too, leaning toward Spock. "Show them compassion, may be the only way to earn peace with Romulus, it's logic, Spock," Jim whispered back. "I thought you'd like that."

Spock made a considering face. "No, not really," he decided. He cut his gaze at Jim, meeting blue eyes. "Not this time."

Jim grinned slightly.

Nero's voice interrupted. "I would rather suffer the death of Romulus a thousand times, I would rather die in _agony_, than accept assistance from you."

"You got it," Jim agreed feelingly. He and Spock broke, walking opposite directions around the helm to their stations. "Arm phasers, fire everything we've got," Jim ordered.

"Yes, sir," Sulu replied, obeying.

The Romulan ship fell to pieces under the_ Enterprise'_s weaponry. As it crumbled, it disappeared into the black hole, wiped out of existence.

After twenty-five years, Nero, at last, was gone. But the damage he had done—the lives he had taken, the destinies he had changed—could never be reversed.

"Sulu, let's go home!" Jim yelled.

"Yes, sir!"

The ship hummed beneath them, but they weren't moving…

"Why aren't we at warp?" Jim demanded over the noise of the groaning engines.

"We_ are_, sir!" Chekov replied.

Jim shoved a button on the arm of his chair. "Kirk to Engineering, get us outta here, Scotty."

"You bet ye're arse, Captain!" the Scotsman cried.

The _Enterprise_ was slowly being sucked into the black hole.

"Captain, we can't, the gravity well has got us!" Scotty yelled. At least, that was what it sounded like. Regardless, the meaning was clear.

"Go to maximum warp, push it!"

"I'm giving 'er all she's got Cap'n!" Scotty shouted over the straining of the engines.

Cracks splintered through the ceiling on the bridge. "All she's got isn't good enough! What else ya got?"

"Um, okay," Scotty said, thinking frantically. "Ah, if we eject the core and detonate, the blast culd be enough to push us away, Ah cannae promise anythin' though!"

The cracks spread over the viewscreen.

"DO IT, DO IT, DO IT!" Jim yelled.

They waited with baited breath.

There was an explosion of blinding white light and they were slammed back into their seats as the _Enterprise _burst away from the deadly hole in space. The entire ship shuddered as it struggled to break away and then they were free, zooming through space.

Sulu sat back and heaved a huge sigh of relief. Jim took a few deep breaths. He turned in his chair, looking toward the science station. Spock gave him a miniscule nod, approval in his eyes.

Jim turned back to the front, a huge grin spreading over his face. Sulu saw it and he was smiling as he looked over at Chekov, who smiled back.

Amazingly, unbelievably, impossibly, they had done it. They were alive, their ship was in one piece(mostly), and the Earth was safe.

There was a smile on every face (except Spock's, and he looked happier than anyone had ever seen him) and they were all reveling in their spectacular victory. They couldn't wait to go home, for their own reasons.

The thing they were all looking forward to the most though, was a nice long nap.

* * *

**A/N:** In the next chapter we finally cut away from the movie, which is a bit of a relief, because as awesome as it is, this will give me more creative freedom. Unfortunately for you guys, it means that my updating will probably get even more erratic, because my muse will have to fly by the seat of her pants, rather than building on a solid foundation. She is very ADD, and will randomly and totally without my permission just skip off, chasing butterflies, or some such nonsense.

As you know, Reviews=love, and anyone who reviews will be given a chocolate covered Spock. Whoa, what a mental image…*fans self* 'S it hot in here?

Yeah, well, if you have any requests or ideas for this story, or even another, I'd love to hear them. I can't promise to write them, because you know, real life and that shit. *eyeroll* but I will try my best!

Love y'all!


	6. That Which Survives

**Love Means Living And Dying**

**Disclaimer:** Do I HAVE to say it? FINE. I don't own them. (Apparently that whole wishing-on-a-star-makes-your-dreams-come-true thing is BULL. SHIT. Stupid stars…)

**A/N: **This is it, folks. Not the final chapter, but the end of the movie. After this we will be moving into a realm that was born when I put TOS and my brain into a blender and hit 'liquefy'. Be afraid…Be VERY afraid…

'K, I know this took, FOREVER, BUT. It is the longest chapter yet—thirty-five pages long-hand, seventeen typed.

As always, I must give credit where credit is due. My BFF, the one and only JJ (she and I did **One** together. Anyone read it? *hint, hint* 2nd chapter of **Timing**) gets her usual props for being the awesome rock and sounding board that I can't live without. (Love you!) **Andalusia**(who, by the way, is freakin' AMAZING!) beta-read this chapter, and kept kicking me to finish already, and I'm not sure anything would be here without her. **jAnon** doesn't even know me(I left one review, but considering the hundreds that pile in, odds are she doesn't know me) but I have been MAJORLY inspired by her work, namely Sviksu(which made me cry, continuously, for the sheer intensity of the emotion) and Observations, which is mega-long, but I'm already over half-way done, because it is JUST. THAT. GOOD. (Only problem is, I want to read it when I should be writing…don't hurt me?)

Got to get better at SHORT A/N's…sorry. Without further ado…

**Chapter Five: That Which Survives**

James T. Kirk was tired. Head-pounding, bone-achingly tired. There was nothing he wanted more than a nap, and that was pretty much the only thought that his muddled, fuzzy brain could process. He hadn't had any sleep since before the assembly. Being knocked out with drugs or martial arts was so _not _relaxing.

His eyelids fluttered. He struggled to open them again, and forced himself to straighten up in his Captain's chair.

He looked around blearily, trying to understand what he saw. The bridge was fairly quiet, a blessing on his aching head and worn nerves. Or perhaps a curse. Blaring alarms might pump some adrenaline into his system and help him stay awake. After all, he hadn't even realized he was tired until they were lurching back to Earth (at sub-light speed, since they had ejected the warp core). But then again, he was _so_ tired. He might just surrender and let the _Enterprise_ blow up. No. No, he couldn't let anything happen to his ship, tired or not.

He glanced around the room again. His crew was working quietly, and no one was talking much. Everyone appeared to be exhausted. Perhaps not as exhausted as he, but most were yawning and rubbing their eyes. They needed to sleep.

Trying to mask his exhaustion, he hit the comm on his chair and ordered for bridge reliefs in an undertone. Raising his voice, he addressed his bridge command crew.

"Listen." Every eye turned to him attentively. Dimly, he noted that the doubt that had been in their eyes before was gone. "You guys are the most amazing people I've ever met. But you're still human. Go get some sleep. Oh," he added. "Before you do, I want all of you to report to Sickbay and get checked out. That's an order."

There was a soft chorus of "Aye, sir,"s and they filtered out. In no time, the bridge was empty. Well, almost empty.

"Spock," Jim sighed.

"Yes, Captain?"

"What are you doing here?"

His eyebrow rose. "I am Science Officer. I am performing my duties—"

"No." Jim waved a hand tiredly. "I mean, why didn't you go down to Sickbay like I ordered?"

The other eyebrow joined its mate. "Your order was based on the observation of signs of fatigue that the majority of members of the crew were exhibiting, was it not?"

Jim turned that sentence over for a minute, before his sluggish mind deciphered it. "Yeah."

Spock stood and moved toward Jim. "As such, I determined that the order was not applicable to me."

Jim sighed again, and it morphed into a yawn. "Spock, you aren't—"

"Vulcans require much less sleep than humans, Captain," Spock interjected. "We also have a heightened awareness of our own bodily functions. I am not injured or ill, and I am sufficiently well-rested. Thus, I see no reason to leave my station at this time."

The doors slid open and the relief crew came in. "All right." A hint of a smile crossed his face. "Hard to argue with that logic."

Spock looked a tad surprised. In a blank, emotionless Vulcan way. He seemed about to say something, but stopped when Jim waved impatiently at something over his shoulder.

"No, no, Mr. Spock will be staying at his station. If you haven't already, go down to Sickbay, then go to sleep."

The ensign stuttered an 'aye, sir', blushing furiously, before slipping off the bridge.

Spock turned back to his acting captain, who favored him with a sincere, if weary, smile. "Thanks, Spock," he murmured.

A curious eyebrow ticked up. "For staying," Jim explained. "It's good to know there's someone I can count on around."

Spock inclined his head and returned to his post, still puzzled. Jim felt he could count on Spock?

This crew was a little fresher, and they had quiet conversations with their neighbors. Their unintelligible murmurs, combined with the almost unnoticeable vibration from the impulse engines, had a hypnotic effect. Things were quiet. And with Nero sucked into a black hole, it wasn't likely that they would be attacked, not this far from the Neutral Zones. Jim couldn't leave the bridge, just in case, but surely just resting his eyes would be acceptable.

His cheek was resting on his hand before he was aware of putting it there. His eyes slid closed, and he let them. He was too tired to care about keeping them open.

* * *

Jim was asleep.

Spock was not surprised: he had noticed Jim's increasingly desperate exhaustion since the signs had first appeared, after they had dropped out of the warp they had been thrown into by the core explosion. The captain's fatigue had been steadily growing ever since and Spock had considered suggesting that he retire to quarters. But the look in Jim's eyes had caused him to debate with himself.

In the bright blue eyes, there was an icy, almost manic determination, and loyalty. Jim was not going leave the bridge now, they had said. Sulu had suggested it, just as Spock had been weighing the pros and cons, and Jim had given the helmsman a _look_, then laughed and shook his head. The look was enough to firmly convince Spock that bringing it up again would be a fruitless endeavor.

Finally, after a longer stretch then Spock had anticipated (though it was James Kirk, so he supposed he should have learned by now that the man exceeded expectation, _always_), Jim had succumbed to his need for sleep.

Spock had been watching Jim out of the corner of his eye, waiting. He was almost positive that Jim had fallen asleep three point six minutes ago, his cheek on his hand.

In that time, he had flopped forward. His arm was stretched along the arm on his chair, cushioning the side of his face. The rest of him was curled awkwardly to make that possible without him falling from the chair.

His face was lax, his lips slightly parted. He looked much more peaceful in sleep than he ever did awake. Seeing him like this, one would never guess at his energy, sarcasm, and capacity for trouble-making.

The members of the relief crew were sneaking peeks at their dozing captain, wide-eyed. Spock decided that, as much as Jim needed rest, the bridge wasn't the best place for it.

He commed for reliefs for both of them and went back to the captain's chair. Hesitantly, he put a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Captain." No response. He shook the blond gently. "Captain." Still, the man did not wake. The Vulcan crouched down and shook Jim a bit harder. "_Jim_," he said in a low but firm voice near Jim's ear.

Jim twitched and blinked his eyes open, looking around woozily. "Spock?" he mumbled, struggling to sit up with a small groan. "Just resting my eyes. What's up?"

"Captain." Spock stood straight, arching one eyebrow. "You were asleep. If I may, I believe it would be logical for you to retire to your own quarters to rest, after visiting Dr. McCoy."

Jim was already shaking his head. "No. I can't leave the bridge. What if something happens?"

"With Nero no longer a threat, the chances of being attacked are highly improbable. And I believe, if the need should arise, you can be contacted within seconds of the arrival of a potential threat. However, you do no good as a captain if you are too exhausted to make decisions."

"But I don't even have quarters," Jim protested. "I'm a stowaway, remember?"

But Spock had an answer for that too. "I admit, I had forgotten. However, as a solution, you may share my quarters until we arrive at Earth."

For once, Jim was speechless. His mouth fell open.

"Is this disagreeable to you?"

"W…Wait," Jim stuttered. "You're saying I can bunk with you until we get back to Earth?"

Spock inclined his head. "Is this arrangement disagreeable?"

"No…" Jim trailed off. He looked up at the Vulcan and grinned. "I just never would have pegged you for the 'roomy' type."

Eyebrow. "Indeed."

Jim chuckled. Then, abruptly, he frowned. "You're going to keep after me until I leave, aren't you?"

Another eyebrow. "Will that be necessary, Captain?" he asked curiously.

Jim sighed. "Guess not." With effort, he pushed himself up, biting back a moan, and stumbled, nearly falling. Spock steadied him with a hand on his elbow, and they walked in step to the turbolift. "Johnson, you have the conn. Comm me if you need me," Jim ordered as his relief passed him.

The captain leaned heavily against the wall, and Spock ordered the lift to take them down to Sickbay. Jim's eyes flew open again.

"Wha—? Spock, no!" he protested.

Spock stared back unfeelingly. "You have sustained multiple injuries over the duration of this mission. They must be seen to."

"No. I just need some sleep and I'll be fine!"

Spock's eyebrow twitched. "It is illogical to refuse necessary medical treatment," he reprimanded coolly.

Jim shook his head vehemently. "Not when McCoy is your best friend," he said firmly.

Spock's eyebrows flew up. "While his personality leaves something to be desired, I have found Dr. McCoy to be an extremely competent medical officer. You do not trust him?"

"No! Of course I trust him—to fix me if I'm hurt. I _don't_ trust him to refrain from giving me hell for it, or from making it as painful as possible."

The Vulcan's brow furrowed. "Surely, as a medical officer, he would not cause you harm."

Jim sighed gustily. "Bones's idea seems to be that if the healing process is as painful as possible, I won't want to get hurt again. He's been at it for three years, but doesn't seem to be giving up."

"You speak as if this degree of injury is a frequent occurrence."

The human waved a hand tiredly. "Yeah, happens all the time."

Spock's eyebrows rose, and he opened his mouth to say something else, but Jim's eyes had slid closed again, and he closed his mouth without speaking.

The lift doors slid open and Spock paused to let Jim pass through first.

They walked into Sickbay side by side and Jim plopped down in the nearest chair, surveying the damages. Most of the biobeds were occupied, but the number was dwindling as they watched. An osteoregenerator beeped and a nurse moved it aside. The man who had been under it hopped up and ambled out of Sickbay, looking good as new.

Another nurse straightened up from where she had been bending over a young woman, a heavy-duty dermal regenerator in her hand. The young woman sat up slowly. A scar scored diagonally down the left side of her jaw, her neck, over her collarbone, to disappear just short of dead center under her uniform. "Come back tomorrow and we'll work on that scar," the nurse—wasn't her name Chapel?—told the woman gently.

The woman shook her head. "Ensign?" the nurse questioned.

A hint of a rueful smile touched the blond woman's marred features. "Thanks for the offer, Nurse Chapel, but no. I don't want to get rid of this scar."

Nurse Chapel looked bemused but nodded. "Very well."

The ensign climbed down and started to walk out.

"Ensign."

She turned back and Jim got to his feet. "Why keep it?" He gestured at the scar. "With a dermal regenerator, it could be gone in an hour."

"Well, sir, I got this the hard way." Jim chuckled, but looked confused yet.

"I guess," she continued carefully, "we all have scars after this. So, I suppose, I'll keep this one as a reminder."

"Reminder of what?"

"Well…of what we lost. People who died. How _we_ made it through anyway. Of lots of things." She shrugged. "Of today."

Jim pondered that for a long moment, deep in thought. Finally, he nodded. "Thank you, Ensign. You can go. Wait," he added.

"Sir?"

"Your name."

"Aly Cooper, Captain." She stuck out a hand and he shook it. "Nice to meet you."

"Jim Kirk. Nice to meet you, too."

She trotted away and Jim turned to Spock, face serious. "That's a lot of wisdom for someone so young." She was at least five years younger than Jim himself.

Spock inclined his head thoughtfully. "I believe this ordeal has required all involved to gain a certain amount of maturity."

Jim laughed. "Oh, really?" he teased.

"It is logical, Captain."

Jim laughed again, and, as if summoned by the sound, McCoy popped up behind him. Jim yelped, jumping back in fright.

"God, Bones," he complained, but stopped short at the gleam in his friend's eye.

"Hullo, Jim. Nice ta see ya, glad ya stopped by," Bones said amiably. "Why didn't ya drop by earlier, ya get lost? Oh, wait," his voice went menacing as he advanced on Jim, who in turn backed away. "I forgot. You're a masochistic IDIOT!" he yelled. "Dammit, Jim, d'you have a death wish?!" He pushed the captain down onto a biobed and ran a tricorder over him. "Look at this! Cracked ribs, twisted ankle, severely bruised larynx, multiple lacerations, most _infected_, hairline fracture on the left eye socket, heavy concussion, swollen kidney, pretty much _everything_ inside you is bruised, your hand is fractured _again_…._Dam_mit! What'd you_ do _on that ice box—jump off a cliff?!"

"Not exactly, but I did get into a fight with a hengrouggi, after it saved me from being eaten by a drakoulias," he responded conversationally.

"You got into it with a _hengrouggi_?" Bones demanded.

"I must confess to considerable curiosity as to how you managed to escape, as it has six legs, is considerably faster than a human, and also possesses a long tongue which it uses to secure its prey before consuming them."

Jim half-shrugged around the osteoregenerator Bones was putting over his chest. "Found a small cave," he said, avoiding the other half of that truth. "Anyway, it was chasing me and I looked over my shoulder for a half a second. Next thing I know I'm falling down a cliff. Which is probably where the cuts and bruises came from. The ankle is because it grabbed me with that tongue, but I fought it off. The ribs and kidney—probably because Nero has a helluva kick. Eye socket, again, Nero; throat, I got choked three times today; hand—coulda been anything…"

"Wait, hold on a minute," Bones interrupted. "You were choked three times?"

Jim nodded. "Spock, then Nero, then Nero's little sidekick."

"Godalmighty, no wonder your throat's a mess," Bones hissed. "How did you manage this long? There's no way you didn't feel this!"

"I just ignored it. I had more important things to worry about."

Bones snorted. "Some of those ribs were a hair away from snapping and piercing your lungs. With the way your insides are beat up, that could have been deadly."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Bones."

"God_dammit_, Jim!" McCoy swore. "D'you even _care_?"

"Better me than someone else. These aren't that bad."

The doctor scowled and proceeded to thoroughly scold and curse Jim for his recklessness.

Spock watched silently as McCoy healed Jim's injuries one by one, all the while berating him for a fool. He wondered why Jim seemed to have so little regard for his own life. McCoy, at least, would be miserable without him. Despite the harsh words, the gentle way he handled Jim, and the worry and fear Spock had seen in his eyes, told the Vulcan how much the crotchety doctor cared for his friend. And Jim clearly loved Bones just as much. Spock couldn't imagine Jim hurting McCoy if he could avoid it. So why, then, was he so callous about his own demise?

Something bloomed inside Spock. Examining the tiny blossom, Spock identified it as a mild concern. He quickly snuffed it out. But…That level of disregard for one's own safety pointed to neglect, or psychological trauma or abuse. It was somewhat disturbing…

McCoy's gruff voice broke through his reverie. "All right, Jim, you can go, but you need sleep. You wanna borrow my bed? I was gonna crash on the couch in my office anyway."

"Thanks Bones," Jim replied, smiling and rolling his shoulder. "But Spock already offered to let me bunk with him. It's up to him."

McCoy's eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he whipped his head around to stare at Spock so fast that he cricked his neck. Scowling and rubbing his neck, he demanded, "_You_ did?" Spock nodded once. "Want me to take him off your hands? He's a pain in the ass."

Spock put his hands behind his back. "Your offer is kind, however I believe my quarters are more suitable for such an arrangement; as First Officer, my accommodations are substantially larger than yours."

McCoy thought that over, still scowling heavily. "Fine. But," he turned on Jim. "You come see me every day, before you go on duty and after you get off. No strenuous activity. No wrestling, no sparring, no exercise beyond walking. No junk food. Make sure to drink milk at every meal, a _full glass_, and eat lots of green vegetables."

"Yes, Mom," Jim said, rolling his eyes. He grabbed Spock by the elbow and started to steer him out of Med Bay. "Quick, before he decides to chain me to a biobed," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Spock's brow creased slightly. "Surely he would not—?" he broke off when he saw the twinkle in Jim's eyes. A joke.

"Spock!" McCoy shouted after them. "You make sure he doesn't overdo it! Make him eat healthy! Tell me if he doesn't!"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Killjoy," Jim muttered under his breath. His eyelids were fluttering—he was nearly asleep as he walked.

They reached Spock's quarters in short order and Jim collapsed onto the bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow, oblivious to the heat of the rooms.

Spock regarded him curiously for a moment, then turned down the temperature, before noiselessly leaving the room.

* * *

It took three more uneventful days to get back to Earth. Spock and Jim worked alternate shifts so that one could sleep while the other worked. They rarely saw each other, aside from passing in the halls. Jim hardly slept at all, using his off-duty time to walk around the ship, checking progress and helping with repairs.

Finally, four days and ten hours after the _Narada_ was sucked into a black hole, the _Enterprise_ puttered into spacedock, to the relief of all aboard. The entire command crew from the incident was on the bridge as they connected to the dock. Jim flashed Spock a smile, and Spock nodded in return. Everyone else was smiling too.

"This is _Enterprise_, requesting permission to complete docking maneuver," Jim said.

"Permission granted. Preparing to lock on. Welcome home, _Enterprise_," the technician added warmly.

They were docked in less than five minutes, and the entire crew was in shuttles on their way to Earth in less than ten.

Jim ended up in the last shuttle, McCoy next to him, the rest of his command crew in the seats around them.

He felt weirdly boneless. Looking around, he saw that the others appeared as mushy and exhausted as he. McCoy's head was tipped back, a light snore rumbling from his throat. Scotty was in much the same position, sprawled across the empty seat next to him. Chekov was curled in his chair like a cat, forehead resting against the window. Beside him, Sulu had his legs stretched into the aisle, head lolling. Even Spock seemed marginally more relaxed than usual, though he still sat perfectly straight, hands folded in his lap. Uhura's head was resting on his shoulder. Jim still thought that was just _weird. Spock_ and _Uhura_? They just didn't seem compatible. _But hey_, Jim shrugged. _At least they're happy. Well, I_ think _Spock is happy, anyway_.

Jim's gaze was pulled, as it always was, to the infinite darkness sprinkled with thousands of pinpoints of light, distant galaxies, waiting to be explored. The vast, incomparable, eternal mystery that was space. Space had always called to Jim, like a siren's song. Even if a person lived forever, they could never explore every corner of the universe. There were always possibilities, always discoveries, always, always, something new…

Jim found himself waking at the gentle roll as the shuttle set down. Peering out of the window, Jim ascertained that it was just after sunrise. He was slightly surprised to see that the shuttlecraft had set down right in front of Starfleet Academy. He was the last to stumble down the ramp, and stopped, in the middle of his command crew, blinking bemusedly at the sight before him.

In front of them, on the lawn of the Academy, stood a mass of people. At the forefront of the crowd was the crew of the _Enterprise_. With them, every cadet still alive and recovered enough to be there. Even some of the instructors were present. And they were all clapping and cheering and smiling, and shouting congratulations or thanks.

Jim looked to either side of him. The seven of them stood in a line, with him at center. On his left, Scotty stood on the outside, slack-jawed, next to a wide Uhura. On the right, Chekov was at the end, eyes as big as saucers, and Sulu stood beside him, blinking incredulously.

And on either side of him stood McCoy, on his right, mouth slightly open, and on his left, Spock, stiff as a board, eyes barely widened.

He turned his eyes back to the hundreds of people who were still cheering for them—for him.

* * *

It took them some time, but they managed to get through the mass of people, and eventually, everyone made it back to their dorms (Scotty ended up crashing with Sulu and Chekov), and immediately collapsed onto their beds. It was quite some time before any of them woke.

Jim came awake slowly, and became aware, bit by bit, of how sore he was. Rolling over, he stifled a groan. Stiff, too. How long was I out? he wondered.

As if on cue, McCoy strode into the room. "You're awake. Good. You've been sleeping for nearly two and a half days."

"Mm-mhy?" Jim tried to say 'Really?' and was quickly made aware of how fuzzy his mouth tasted and how his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth.

McCoy nodded briskly. "Get up and get decent. You need to eat."

Jim managed to heave himself out of bed and hobble to the bathroom. He dragged himself into the shower and let the hot water soothe his aching muscles. God, he felt like one giant bruise. He scrubbed all over, thoroughly, because he hadn't had a nice long shower since before Nero showed up. When he was done, he toweled off, yanked a brush through his short hair, and brushed his teeth for ten minutes straight.

Feeling a little more alive, he pulled on his cadet red, glad to be able to wear clothes not dirty or torn.

His whole body was covered in fading green and yellow bruises. A lovely green-brown mottling across his left eyebrow and cheekbone topped it off. He shrugged and grinned, deciding that the girls would probably coo and fuss over his 'battle wounds', and be otherwise impressed by his heroism.

He left the bathroom and McCoy dragged him down to the mess hall. When they walked through the door (flanked by Scotty, Sulu, and Chekov, who had conveniently caught up as they turned toward the mess) everyone in the hall jumped to attention. The five stopped dead, taken aback, and there was a moment of awed silence. Then the cadets relaxed and one of them brought his hands together, which quickly turned into tumultuous applause. Another, in a moment of courage, yelled "Three cheers for Captain Kirk!"

A thunderous roar went through the mass, followed by another, and another. They kept on until they had long surpassed three.

Jim blinked. They were still calling him Captain…? But what surprised him most was when he turned to his friends (you really couldn't go through something like that without becoming friends with the men who stuck it out with you. Unless that man was Spock.), his eyes wide, mouth open to ask them what this was about, and found that they too, even gruff McCoy, were smiling, clapping, and cheering. For him.

_This is just so weird,_ Jim though fervently. His mouth snapped closed and he shook his head back and forth. "Stop," he called. "STOP!" No one could hear him over the uproar of his new fans, but they saw him trying to say something and fell silent, the ones in front nudging the people behind and whispering "Shh, Captain Kirk's talking!"

In half a moment, there was utter silence, and more than one hundred and fifty people were watching him expectantly.

"Look," he began, not sure what to say. A thought entered his mind and a cocky smirk spread across his face. "Not that I'm not enjoying all the love—cause I am. Really, I'm just basking in it, especially since it's so long in coming." There was a collective eyeroll as chuckles swept through the crowd. "But if you guys are gonna give me a standing ovation every time I walk into a room, we'll never get anything done, will we?" There were a few reluctant nods. He continued. "If you want to come up and say hi, give me a pat on the back, whatever, fine, like I said, I love the love. Just do it one at a time. Don't form lines, don't jump to attention. As cool as that is, I think it would be a little hard to finish anything. And with everything that's happened lately, we have a lot to do, and too few people to do it." Everyone exchanged grim looks. Jim's cocky grin broke out again. "Thanks though. I know I'm awesome." He bowed to the chuckling audience and led his friends over to a table. Chekov's eyes were wide, Sulu looked surprised, and Scotty's mouth was hanging open. McCoy just huffed and rolled his eyes as he sat down heavily.

"You are such an attention whore," he informed Jim.

"Hey!" Jim protested. "I am not."

"Ah think ya are, Jim," Scotty agreed, lips twitching.

"I am not!"

Sulu had a fiendish smirk. "Yes, you are."

"Am not!"

"Are too," Chekov shot back, smiling.

Jim was outnumbered. He did the only thing he could he could do. He flipped them off and began to eat, ignoring his tablemates. They only laughed and dug in.

The meal was a fun one, full of good-natured ribbing, shoving, food-stealing, and jokes. They were interrupted a total of eighteen times by the braver people who had taken Jim's invite to come and greet him to heart. Jim got most of the attention, but the others soon found out that they were almost as famous as their captain. Scotty, Sulu, and Chekov were delighted, gracious and embarrassed about that, respectively. Poor Chekov was so mortified that his face flushed bright red whenever someone addressed him. One girl, equally red, came up and kissed him on the cheek before fleeing, and his ears glowed for a good ten minutes afterward, much to the glee of his friends.

Finally Jim, feeling better than he had since the Kobyashi Maru, loaded his silverware onto his tray and stood. "Well, gents, as fun as this is, I've important business to attend to elsewhere. See you guys for dinner, around six?"

They nodded and called goodbyes. Jim had a smile on his face, but his tone was serious when he spoke of important business. McCoy eyed his friend with a typical scowl and abruptly stood.

"Back in a sec," he muttered to the others, before catching up as Jim dumped his tray.

"What's up, Bones?" Jim asked pleasantly.

"Jim," McCoy began in an undertone. "What are you gonna do?"

"I need to talk to Spock," Jim replied, voice equally low. The doctor's face darkened—he was still sore over Jim being marooned on an ice planet—but Jim continued before he could interrupt. "It's important Bones. Don't try to talk me out of it."

Bones glared, and gave a grudging nod.

Jim patted his shoulder and walked out of the mess. He strode across the verdant campus, heading for the teachers' quarters. Word about his 'say hi' offer seemed to have spread; he was stopped more than twenty times by awed cadets. Twice, it was a professor who called to him and gave him a word of congratulations. It was a rather surreal experience. Jim had never really been popular before, except as a bed partner, and he had never been like by the higher-ups. Jim+authority=minor atomic explosion. He enjoyed all the attention, and was surprised to find that he had been absolutely right in his comment about not getting things done. It took him nearly half an hour to get halfway across campus to the teacher dorms because he had to keep stopping to make small talk.

Finally managing to shake off a particularly eager young woman named Marlena Moreau, he ducked around a science building and found himself facing a side entrance to the very building he had been looking for. He slipped inside and quickly shut the door behind him, breathing a sigh of relief. _Most doors to the instructors' building are locked,_ he thought, looking around cautiously. He decided that his wasn't because it was hard to find and the rooms each had their own locks anyway.

He crept along the hall, reading the names engraved on the plates made of a silver metal compound. When he reached the front of the hallway, he still hadn't seen Spock's name, so he started up the stairs. He had to search two more floors before he finally found a plaque that read simply 'Spock' at the very back of the fourth floor.

Feeling rather anxious, Jim rang the bell. There was a moment's pause and then the door slid open.

Spock's eyebrows shot up. "How did you gain access to this building?"

Jim smiled and shrugged, pointing to himself. "Jim Kirk?" he said, raising his brows as if that answered everything. Which it sorta did.

Spock's right eyebrow moved above his left, but he didn't comment. "What is your purpose here?

"Uh—can I come in?" Jim asked, a little nervous. "It won't take long, promise."

Spock measured him up for a moment before stepping back. "Very well, Jim."

Jim stepped past the Vulcan and gave an appreciative whistle.

"I do not understand this expression," Spock informed him, brow creased.

"Dude, this place is _clean_!" Jim exclaimed. "I mean, I know you're a Vulcan and a mess would be illogical, but _damn_. This looks like one of those house-keeping magazines."

"Jim, you implied that you had something of importance to discuss with me," Spock reminded him.

The awed look was gone, replaced with a slight discomfort. "Yeah, I do. Well, see…I…don't really know how to start…" he trailed off.

Spock regarded him for a moment. "Please sit down," he invited unexpectedly, inclining his head toward the immaculate black sofa. Jim obeyed. Spock, surprisingly, went into the connected kitchen instead. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"Uh, sure."

"Do you have a preference as to what kind?" Spock asked.

"Whatever you're having is fine."

There was silence except for the clank of cups and drawers. Jim was surprised when Spock pulled out a real, ancient teapot and put it over an old-fashioned burner, which must have been there for precisely that purpose.

When it whistled, Spock poured the tea and set one down on a coaster in front of Jim, keeping the other for himself. Jim sipped, and found the subtle array of spices absolutely delicious, so he sipped again. "This is great."

Spock nodded once, graciously. He set his cup aside and folded his hands in his lap. Jim copied him, fidgeting. Spock regarded Jim evenly. _Clearly,_ he's _not gonna help things along,_ Jim thought anxiously.

"Okay, Spock," he began. _Well, best to dive in headfirst, I guess_. "I'm sorry."

The Vulcan's brow furrowed slightly, betraying his confusion.

"Please elaborate," he requested.

Jim took a deep breath. "Because what I said about you and your mother was cruel." Spock stiffened and Jim continued, feeling a little desperate to get it all out. His eyes were hard, determined. Sincere. "You didn't deserve it, and I didn't mean any of it, and it wasn't true. I deserved every single punch you threw at me, and more, and I felt horrible saying it, and I'm really sorry. I know that's not really enough, but…"

Spock leaned forward. "You are correct," he said seriously. "Words of apology neither cancel nor erase words of cruelty." Jim nodded, shamefaced. "However," Spock continued. Jim looked up, surprised. "Your actions, both preceding and following that incident, proved that such spite is not in your nature without far more cause than I had given you. You were able to speak rationally to Nero, who was responsible for the murder of your father and all subsequent hardships you must have endured. You were able to logically offer him mercy when I, a being far more grounded in logic than yourself, would not have been."

"Well, yeah, but, I never knew my father. You watched your mom die, along with your entire home planet," Jim protested.

"That is true," Spock agreed. "But, as a Vulcan, I should have been able to put that aside and make the logical decision. You were affected by the loss of Vulcan as well, and you are driven by emotion. You proved that you are able to remain calm in the face of crisis, and think quickly and innovatively, as well as compassionately."

Jim blinked. "Thanks. That's a major compliment, coming from you."

"I do not 'compliment.' I merely state the facts."

Jim rolled his eyes with a half smile. "Yeah, but it _feels_ like a compliment." Spock opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but Jim held up a hand. "I know, I know. But anyway. I really am sorry."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I know." There was a hint of a smile in his eyes.

Jim shook his head, disbelieving, and held out a fist. "Are we cool?"

Spock stared at his fist, then looked back to his face, uncomprehending. "'Cool?'" he repeated.

"Yeah, are we cool?" Jim said. "Oh for the love of—_Seriously,_ Spock?" he demanded, exasperated. "Are we cool, as in, are we okay?"

"I believe we are both in acceptable mental and physical condition," Spock hedged, though his expression said that he was rapidly reevaluating that opinion of Jim's mental facilities.

"_No_. I mean like, ugh, it sounds lame…it kinda means, do you forgive me?"

"Oh." Spock blinked, then inclined his head. "Affirmative." Jim held his fist out again, and again Spock stared at it.

"Geez, Spock. Okay, extend your fist."

Doubtfully, Spock held out his fist, mirroring Jim. "Now, we touch our fists together, like this." He bumped his knuckles against Spock's. Spock had that 'I think you are severely unstable' look again.

"Does that bother you?" Jim questioned, and an expression of acute horror dawned on his face. "I just remembered how sensitive Vulcan hands are."

"It was not uncomfortable. The extra nerve endings in our hands are clustered in our palms and the insides of our fingers." He indicated the areas he talked about. "The backs of our hands and fingers have a sensitivity that is comparable to humans."

"Really? I didn't know that."

"Few humans do."

"Well, if that's true, then try again." Once more, he extended a fist. "Harder this time. We slam our fists together."

Spock raised an eyebrow as he brought he fist to meet Jim's. Jim grinned broadly. "And _that_…is a fist bump."

* * *

Spock walked through the cargo bay, taking mental notes. He was working. Of course he was. It was not logical to idle when there was work to be done, and one was capable of assisting.

Something caught his eye, and he turned. An elderly Vulcan in traditional black Vulcan robes was ambling along, his hands behind his back. He was familiar. There was only person it could be.

"Father," Spock called.

The man paused and turned slowly. Spock was…confused. The man was not his father. But he was extremely, intimately familiar. Spock was sure he had never seen this man before. How could he be familiar?

"I am not our father," the old man said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Spock digested this sentence and all it meant, mind rapidly connecting half-formed clues and pieces that hadn't made sense, and everything was thrown into new clarity. "With so few Vulcans left," the elder continued, closing the distance between them, "We cannot afford to ignore each other."

Spock stepped toward his older self. "Then why did you send Kirk aboard when you alone could have explained the truth?"

"Because you needed each other," the other said simply, but with conviction.

The younger Spock was confused, to say the least. He and Kirk, needed each other? It was a very strange thought.

"I could not deprive you of the revelation of all that you could accomplish together. Of a friendship, that will define you both, in ways you could not yet realize."

Something was baffling. "How did you persuade him to keep your secret?" Spock wanted to know.

"He inferred that universe-ending paradoxes would ensue, should he break his promise."

"You lied."

"Aww," the elder said, as though this weren't fair. "I…I implied."

"A gamble," the younger man realized incredulously.

"An act of faith," his older self corrected, eyes twinkling. "One I hope that you will repeat in the future in Starfleet."

"In the face of extinction it is only logical that I resign my Starfleet commission and help rebuild our race," the younger said quickly.

"And yet you can be in two places at once," elder Spock replied gravely. "I urge you to remain in Starfleet. I have already located a suitable planet on which to establish a Vulcan colony. Spock," he said, stepping closer, "In this case, do yourself a favor: put aside logic. Do what feels right."

Spock Prime turned and began to walk away. He paused and faced himself. "Since my customary farewell would appear oddly self-serving," he said with a hint of amusement, lifting a hand in the Vulcan salute, which the younger Spock copied, rather dazedly, "I shall simply say, 'Good luck.'"

* * *

Jim hurried toward the auditorium, McCoy, Scotty, Sulu and Chekov on his heels. McCoy reached out and tugged at Jim's collar.

"Bones!" Jim snapped. "Knock it off!"

"Why do you zink zat zey hawe inwited us to zis assembly so formally?" Chekov panted, straightening his shirt nervously. "Ve would hawe been zere anyway."

"No idea," Sulu replied, brushing lint off his young friend's shoulder.

"They probably want to punish me publicly for stowing onboard the _Enterprise_ and committing mutiny," Jim said darkly.

"Ah hope not, laddie," Scotty gasped. "That'd be a pretty thanks for saving all our arses."

"Yeah, well, they aren't exactly Jim's biggest fans." McCoy growled, pulling at his friend's collar again.

"Scotty's right though," Sulu pointed out. "Jim saved the entire planet. Probably every planet in the Federation. It'd pretty petty to punish the guy who saved civilization as we know it for something so inconsequential in comparison."

"Let's hope they see it that way," McCoy hissed as they entered the auditorium and made their way to the front row. Jim's whole body was tense. His hands were clenched in his lap.

The admirals, minus Pike and Barnett, were sitting behind their table. Barnett stood behind his center chair, eyes sweeping over the cadets. His impassive gaze fell on Jim.

After about ten more minutes, cadets stopped trickling in and Barnett cleared his throat.

"Once again, I must announce that James T. Kirk is the subject of this assembly." His lips twitched.

"As you know, we recently came very close to utter disaster. Most of our graduating cadets were killed during the Romulan Nero's attack on our fleet. Captain Pike, who has recently been promoted to the rank of Admiral—" a massive cheer went up as Pike, in a gray-blue and cream white jumpsuit was wheeled out. He was confined to a wheelchair until his spine healed. "Admiral Pike has told us that if it were not for Mr. Kirk, the _Enterprise_ would have met the same fate. He stowed onboard the ship, recognized the signs that indicated that the same force which destroyed the _Kelvin_ was also behind this occurrence, and warned Captain Pike that Romulans were attacking Vulcan." Barnett looked at Kirk. "He and two others, including the helmsman Mr. Hikaru Sulu, spacejumped onto the drill the Romulans had lowered into the atmosphere. Distressingly, they did not deactivate it in time to prevent the Romulans from launching red matter into the center of the planet, which created a singularity that consumed the planet." Surprised murmurs swept through the cadets. They didn't know that.

Barnett went on to summarize the rest of the adventure. When he was done, he met Jim's eyes.

"In light of his actions, all charges have been dropped. Mr. Kirk will be receiving a commendation for original thinking in the Kobyashi Maru scenario."

Jim's jaw dropped, and the cadets jumped to their feet, clapping.

A distinctly Scottish voice called out, "Ah tol' ya, lad!" and Jim grinned.

Barnett came down to stand in the center of the floor. "In addition," he began, and the cadets clammed up instantly. "Starfleet strongly believes that innate talent should never be wasted. Therefore, we have decided that Mr. Kirk is to be placed in a position where he can best exercise his gifts for the good of all."

Jim's eyes widened. At first, all he felt was shock. Then a blazing, triumphant warmth flooded him. What would they do? Make him a lieutenant, maybe, and maybe a First Officer. It didn't matter, as long as he was on his way to command.

"We have agreed that he be placed on the _Enterprise_, as the new captain."

Jim's head reeled. _They're giving me the __**Enterprise**__? No. Freaking. Way._

Barnett motioned discreetly to someone standing off to one side, who came up to them, holding a black velvet box. The kind that medals were placed in. Jim stepped forward as Barnett continued. "This assembly calls _Captain_ James Tiberius Kirk. Your inspirational valor and supreme dedication to your comrades is in keeping with the highest traditions of service, and a reflect of utmost credit to yourself, your crew, and the Federation. It is my honor to award you with this commendation." He took the medal and pinned to Jim's chest. Jim couldn't entirely hold back a smile. "By Starfleet order two eight four five five, you are hereby directed to report to Admiral Pike, _USS Enterprise_, for duty, as his relief."

Jim was shell-shocked. But only for a moment, before a fierce joy, greater than any he had ever known, surged through him, consuming. He could not entirely hide the smile that broke out on his face. His happiness refused to be contained. They were giving him the _Enterprise._ They were making him a captain. They were making him a captain, and giving him the_**Enterprise.**_

He shook Barnett's hand tightly.

Then, still grinning, he turned and walked over to Admiral Pike, who was wheeled forward slightly to meet him. "I relieve you, sir," he said quietly, eyes blazing.

"I am relieved," he said, somewhat sardonically.

"Thank you, sir." _For everything._

"Congratulations, Captain." He reached out and clasped Jim's hand warmly. "Your father would be proud."

He looked down at his mentor, silently thanking him for everything he had done for Jim over the past three years. Pike was looking back with a slight smile, eyes warm. And in that moment, something passed between them. Jim knew that Pike knew what the younger man was trying to say without speaking, and Jim understood what Pike was trying to communicate in response. Pike was saying, 'I'm proud of you,' 'I knew you would do it even before you did,' and also, 'and so the student has surpassed the teacher. Well done, son.' All this was communicated in less than a breath.

The cadets clapped and cheered loudly as Jim turned back to them, a smile on his face. His eyes swept across the rows of red, looking for someone dressed impeccably in instructor blacks. He felt a slight twinge of disappointment that Spock wasn't there at this most important moment, but it was eclipsed by the overwhelming euphoria that was clouding his brain.

* * *

High above the cheering cadets, on a balcony over the auditorium, stood a lone man in strange, elegant dress.

Despite the joyous occasion taking place below, had anyone looked upon his face, they would have seen, showing slightly behind his neutral expression, a deep and fathomless sorrow.

_There is happiness in this occasion_, he reflected. _Jim has received his captaincy much earlier than he did in my own timeline. However, I cannot help but remember my own captain's commission ceremony…Jim_… his eyes glazed over with familiar tears. Even after so many years, he still felt a deep, pulsing ache in his chest when he thought of his Jim. He blinked away the tears, and looked down again, at this new timeline. Things were already far different here from his home. But the basic elements remained.

Now, seeing that the entire command crew of the_ Enterprise_ had come together again, under a completely different set of circumstances, even he could not deny that there was a greater force, a destiny at work. They would all be together, as they were meant to be.

And he wished, as he so often had before, that he had not had to outlive his friends…_my family._

There was a hope though. Perhaps this new universe's crew, younger than his own had been, would realize certain things about themselves earlier.

After all, they were about to embark on a journey that would change and define who they were in their very souls. And the universe was full of infinite possibilities.

"Thrusters on full," he whispered heavily.

He turned and walked slowly away from the ceremony. _Perhaps…my counterpart will have gained something through this experience. Perhaps he will be wiser than I was…_

* * *

Jim reclined on his bed, tossing a small rubber ball up to the ceiling. He had already asked the admirals to give him the crew that had been with him during the _Narada_ Incident, with emphasis on regaining the command crew. They had instantly agreed, with just one exception.

Spock was considering resigning his commission.

Jim was sure he knew why, too. Spock wanted to be all noble and logical and shit, and resign so he could help his people. Which was bullshit. Jim knew that Spock wanted to stay in Starfleet. There was no way that it wouldn't bother him to give it up. And he was definitely in his element standing on the bridge of a starship in crisis, giving logical advice and assistance.

Sure, what Jim had in mind could probably cause some tension between the two of them, being a complete role reversal. But he couldn't picture it any other way, no matter how hard he tried. Besides, he was pretty sure they had come to an understanding.

Jim vaulted off his bed, the ball plunking on the mattress, forgotten. Purposefully, he strode out the door. He had to try.

There was no one else Jim wanted as his First Officer.

* * *

Spock lay on his bed, hands folded over his chest, thinking hard. The words of his older self echoed in his head.

_You needed each other…_ Illogical. Why would he need Jim Kirk, or vice versa? They had worked well together, it was true, but their personalities were conflicting to the core.

His elder self had seemed far too free with emotions to be a disciplined Vulcan of such advanced age. What had caused him to be so callous about Vulcan principles? Did he not respect the Vulcan ways any longer? It was clearly Spock, greatly aged, but Spock could not imagine becoming so relaxed.

His mind turned over something else the elder Vulcan had said. _I could not deprive you of a chance to discover all that you could accomplish together, of a friendship that will define you both, in ways you cannot yet realize._

Spock ran over the words in his memory. Yes, that was exactly what he said.

Interesting, Spock thought. Spock the elder had said '_all you_ could _accomplish_' and '_a friendship that_ will _define you both._' He hadn't appeared to realize it at the time. But, at least in his subconscious, the fact of their friendship, and how it would affect them, was exactly that: fact. While their accomplishments were still in question, their friendship was, in elder Spock's mind, set in stone.

The doorbell chimed, startling Spock from his reflections. When he answered, his eyebrows flew up at the sight of Jim Kirk, yet again, in his doorway.

"Hey, Spock," he said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for him to be there.

"I hope you do not intend to make a habit of this, Mr. Kirk," Spock replied, stepping back to allow Jim entry.

Jim grinned and turned to face Spock, a resolute look in his eye. "Got any plans tonight?" he asked bluntly.

"I have no prior engagements this evening," Spock acknowledged cautiously.

"You do now. Go put on some civvies."

Spock gave him a look. "Okay, Spock, you are way too smart not to be able to deduce what 'civvies' means. Just go put on some normal, non-military clothes." He emphasized his demand by giving Spock a little shove toward his bedroom.

"May I inquire as to the reason behind your demand?" Spock wanted to know.

"We're going out for dinner. I need to talk to you," Jim replied shortly. "Now, go change!"

"I see no logical reason not to comply with your request," Spock conceded reluctantly, disappearing into the bedroom.

It was less than five minutes later that Spock slipped back into the living room. The door slid shut with a quiet rush of air, and Jim, who had been admiring the view, turned. His eyes widened for a brief instant, and then a smile tugged at his mouth.

"Is there something inappropriate about my apparel?" Spock asked.

"No, no." Jim shook his head, still smiling. "Just—" His eyes met Spock's and they were smiling too, a bit surprised. "You look great. Who knew?"

He was dressed simply, in well-worn black slacks and a soft black t-shirt that fit his form perfectly.

He inclined his head, ignoring the small joke. "As do you."

Jim looked down at himself, seeming surprised by the return. "Thanks." He sported faded, old blue jeans and a sky blue muscle shirt. Both of them were dressed simply, the attire not chosen to attract attention, but it complimented their respective physiques perfectly.

Wordlessly, they walked in tandem out the door and across the campus. They kept a steady stream of quiet, idle conversation, mainly about their individual efforts in the repairs. Jim updated Spock on how the _Enterprise _was coming along, and Spock told Jim about the more general repairs he oversaw. Each of them were hailed by various fans and friends, and they returned all greetings, occasionally drifting away slightly to chat with someone, but somehow, they always stayed within talking distance of each other, and always gravitated back to one another. They were like night and day, yet it was clear they were walking together, smiling, relaxed Jim, and blank, straight-backed Spock, and it seemed natural, as if, instead of setting them at odds, they were a perfect contrast, complementing each other.

"—Scotty and I are working on the new warp core, and it should be fixed in a day or so, but we might have to extend that, because installing it is such a delicate process, and we don't really want to let anyone else handle it, in case something goes wrong," Jim said, as they walked through the Academy gates.

"I had heard that Mr. Scott personally approved every engineer assigned to work on the _Enterprise_," Spock commented.

Jim shot him a surprised glance. "Yeah, he did."

"And yet, he does not trust them?" This was more of a question.

"Well," Jim hesitated, and rubbed his head. "It's not exactly that… It's more that they all have their specialties, and only a handful are qualified to work on the warp core, and they are the only ones qualified to replace Scotty. It's a major risk, working with the warp core, you know? On little slip-up, and _boom!_ So, it's better that it's just us. That way, if something goes wrong, no one else gets hurt. See?"

Spock nodded thoughtfully, eyes betraying a hint of surprise. "That is logical. The good of the many outweighs the good of the few. However, I must insist that both of you exercise extreme caution in this endeavor. I do not believe it is possible for Starfleet to replace either of you."

Jim blinked, taken aback. Then he flashed a dazzling grin. "Thanks."

"I too find that the projects I am overseeing are progressing well. I am supervising and assisting a team charged with designing four starships, modified versions of the fleet we lost to Nero's attack. The first is under construction at the shipyard on the outskirts of Phoenix, Arizona. The remaining three are close to completion in design. However, we are having difficulty with one aspect of the modifications of the design of the _Farragut_."

"What kind of problem?" Jim inquired.

"The engine chambers were originally designed in such a way that movement was inconvenient as well as inefficient. Making adjustments during a hostile situation was too difficult to truly be called useful." He continued outlining the problem to a completely absorbed Jim, who even had a few suggestions.

"Well, have you considered changing the layout of the compression chambers to a lateral design, and then moving them at an angle…"

They continued to discuss the problem, and came up with a solution that was 'theoretically sound' according to Spock. The discussion moved onto to other aspects of their Starfleet training. By the time they reached their destination, Spock was more than a bit surprised by the depth of Jim's knowledge on subjects ranging from warp core engineering to theoretical particle physics.

They had just fallen into silence when Jim paused before a nice-looking restaurant. He opened the door with a sarcastic half-bow, a smirk on his face. Spock raised an unimpressed eyebrow and waited for Jim to enter first. He did, rolling his eyes, and the hostess led them to a table. They were uncomfortably aware of the stares they drew as they were taken to a booth in a corner. However, since neither of them were approached, they amounted it to the other's appearance (each knew that the other was considered attractive) and promptly forgot it. They sat, and ordered quickly, a lasagna for Jim, and a salad for Spock. For drinks, Jim requested a root beer, Spock water.

When their drinks arrived, Spock eyed Jim's brown soda curiously.

"Something wrong with my root beer?" Jim asked, peering at the cup as he dropped in a straw.

"I admit I am unfamiliar with this drink," Spock confessed. "Is it similar to the alcoholic beverage?"

Jim laughed. "No. It's a soda, Spock. Carbonation, sugar, and flavor. No alcohol. No fermented grain."

Spock nodded. "I see." He glanced at the glass again.

"You wanna taste it?" Jim offered, eyes dancing.

Spock looked up at him. "I am satisfied with my own drink, thank you," he answered primly.

Rolling his eyes, Jim pushed the cup of dark liquid across the table. "_Vulcans_. You're curious right? It's natural for a scientist to be curious. Go ahead, take a sip."

"It is not hygienic."

"That's why you're taking the first sip. I don't mind drinking after you. Here, you use the straw and I'll just drink straight from the cup."

Seeing that Jim was now entirely fixed on the idea, and already knowing that Jim was inordinately stubborn, even for a human, Spock decided it wasn't important enough to argue about, and drew the cup to him. Jim's smile widened, and Spock had a sudden, intense urge to roll his eyes. He put his lips to the straw and took a tentative sip. His right eyebrow shot up, and his eyes widened slightly. He blinked twice.

Jim sat back and started to laugh. Spock's other eyebrow rose, and he looked down his nose at the human, disapproving.

"Sorry, Spock," Jim chuckled, not sounding sorry in the least. "The _face_ you made… it was very 'whooaa, this tastes weeeeird.' Like a little kid. Except Vulcan, so really, really subtle."

Spock continued to look at Jim disdainfully, until the blond quieted and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I said I was sorry—it's not _my_ fault that tasting root beer gave you a really funny look on your face. So, did you like it?"

"It was…not disagreeable," he said carefully.

"Yeah, but did you _like_ it?" Jim persisted.

Spock exhaled, almost a sigh, and immediately reprimanded himself. Vulcans did not sigh. "I would not be averse to repeating the experience."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Jim," Spock said suddenly, with new intent.

"Yeah?" Jim gulped his root beer.

"When you encountered my alternate self, did he insinuate that a friendship between you and I was an imperative?"

Jim couldn't answer; he was too busy choking on his soda. Eyes watering, root beer dribbling form the corner of his mouth, he caught his breath, gasping. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, glaring at Spock. "How the hell—?" His eyes narrowed. "That bastard," he muttered. He looked up at Spock accusingly. "He told me the universe would explode if you knew."

Spock cocked an eyebrow. "Did he articulate that result directly?"

"Yeah—" Jim stopped, and thought. "No. He just implied it. _Bastard_."

There was a pause. Jim's gaze turned to Spock again. "Sorry, what was your question?"

Spock related his encounter with his alternate self, and repeated the inquiry. "Yeah, actually," Jim replied. "It was pretty much the first thing he said."

They eyed each other uncomfortably. Their new agreement barely qualified as acquaintanceship, a shaky foundation to a possible casual camaraderie.

"Anyway," Jim said, briskly changing the subject. "I actually did have a reason for dragging you out here tonight." The waiter set their food in front of them.

"You weren't at the assembly," Jim stated. Spock lifted his eyebrows slightly. If he were a teenage human, he might have just said 'Duh.' "Well, I thought you should know… I've been made Captain of the _Enterprise._" Spock froze, and his eyes lifted from his salad to fix an impenetrable gaze on the blond. His tan face was slightly apprehensive, but there was determination in the firm line of his jaw and his intense blue eyes.

"I believe the appropriate sentiment is 'congratulations,'" Spock responded evenly, searching Jim's face. _There is more,_ he knew.

"Thanks. I spoke to the admirals about my crew." He was getting closer to the true subject. Jim leaned across the table, eyes sharp. "They told me that you're considering resigning commission."

_Ah_, Spock thought. "Indeed."

"Don't." Spock kept gazing at him calmly. "Look. You're smart. You have the regs committed to memory. You have the curiosity, the thirst for knowledge, and the drive that make for a fantastic scientist. You have the cool head and ability to make rapid, logical decisions that makes you an invaluable officer. Leaving Starfleet would be a massive waste of talent. And I know you say you don't have feelings, but you would not be happy or satisfied if you quit now." Spock still said nothing. Drawing a deep breath, Jim took the metaphorical plunge. "I want you to be my First Officer."

Spock's eyes widened ever so slightly. For a long moment he seemed to be deep in thought. Finally, he said slowly, "It is not logical for me to remain in Starfleet when my intelligence could be put to use aiding in the preservation of Vulcan culture."

"Bullshit," Jim retorted simply. "Your older self can help as well as you can. Better, even, since he's had all the adventures and gotten it out of his system a bit."

"Both my counterpart and I would be an asset in rebuilding our race."

"Spock. You were made for space. Oh, don't give me that look, you know what I mean. Your skills and personality make you a perfect officer. We've lost most of the graduating cadets. Starfleet can't afford to lose someone like you."

"These talents you speak of could also be put to invaluable use on the new Vulcan planet," Spock argued. But it was clear he was trying to convince himself as much as Jim.

Jim took a deep breath. "Yeah, but they don't really need more than one of you. The other you can handle it. I didn't want to have to resort to this, but you're being stubborn." He put his elbows on the table and looked the Vulcan straight in the eye. "Spock. I need you as my First Officer. McCoy says it all the time: I'm too reckless. You're logical. If you're my First Officer, you can stop me from doing anything too stupid."

Needless to say, Spock was surprised by this angle. He thought about it. _It is true,_ he admitted to himself. _He is reckless to the point of near-suicidal inclinations. As his First Officer, I would be within my rights to question his orders, and provide logical alternatives._

"I am Vulcan," he said quietly. "As such, my first duty is to my race."

Jim shook his head, exasperated. "You're half human, too. Spock, you don't owe them anything. They never did anything for you. You don't have a duty to them. You do have a duty to you. And you can deny it all you want, you do have emotions. They matter. You can make yourself happy without betraying anybody. And the work you can do in space in just as important as anything you could do on a planet."

Spock was silent.

Jim sighed and leaned forward, locking Spock's gaze. His eyes were soft but brimming with purpose. "I've given you all the arguments I can come up with. I guess all that's left is to wait for your decision. I'll let you know when we launch, and if you're not onboard by the time we leave spacedock, I'll assume you decided to stay with the Vulcans." He stood up. "I can't force you, and I'm not gonna try. But one thing is definitely weighted in my favor." Spock looked up at him. Jim smiled slightly. "It goes without saying that we need you more."

With that, he turned on his heel and left the restaurant without a backward glance. Spock stared after him for a long time, mind comparing pros and cons and factors rapidly.

"Illogical," he murmured.

* * *

Four weeks later, Spock opened his door to what was rapidly becoming a familiar sight. Wordlessly, he let Jim in and turned to make tea.

He handed Jim a mug and sat opposite him, watching his face carefully. Jim drank, and they sat in silence. Eventually, Jim set down a half-empty cup.

"The_ Enterprise_ launches in two weeks," he said without preamble. "A couple of planetary surveys and probably some Neutral Zone time."

"Indeed? Have you come here to tell me this?"

"Yeah. I still want you as my First Officer. Fourteen days, launch at twelve hundred. Have you…decided what you'll do?" he asked hesitantly.

Spock shook his head thoughtfully. "I have not yet come to a decision," he answered. "However, I assure you, I am giving the matter due consideration."

"Thanks." Jim stood and Spock copied him. Smirking, Jim held out a fist.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "That action is illogical."

"It's just a thing friends do."

"Nonetheless, it has no meaning that I can decipher."

"It means a lot of things. Goodbye, hello, thanks, good one…"

Holding up a hand, Spock cut him off. "I believe the phrase is, I 'get the point.'"

Jim snorted. He kept his hand held out, though, and Spock, who was quickly coming to understand that he'd have to 'pick his battles' when it came to Jim, met it with an internal sigh. Truthfully, he didn't mind the gesture. It was illogical, but then, there was no logical reason _not_ to do it, either.

Jim grinned. "See ya," he said cheerfully, and bounced out of the room.

Spock stared after him for a long moment. _Will I ever come to understand him?_ He wondered.

* * *

Jim was excited. Today was the day. The _Enterprise_ would launch in less than fifteen minutes. He was so full of anticipation that he fairly skipped through the decks, checking everything over one last time.

One thought slowed his steps and a frown came to his face. Spock had not contacted him with an answer, and Jim hadn't seen him on board or on the dock. _Is he coming? _He wondered.

Shaking his head, he tried to shrug it off. _If he comes, he comes. At this point, it's only _logical _to assume that he's not coming. That's that. Who else is good for First Officer? Maybe Sulu…he's competent and down to earth. Or Uhura…she's got the spirit for it…_

He strode onto the bridge.

"Maneuvering thrusters and impulse engines at your command, sir," Sulu reported.

"Weapons systems and shields on standby," Chekov added.

"Dock controls report ready, Captain," Uhura finished. There was a warmth and respect in her voice, especially as she enunciated the final word, that had never been there before.

He looked around, savoring the fact that this was _his_. He caught sight of his best friend, and a fiendish smirk tugged at his mouth. "Bones," he said loudly. He strode over and clapped the other man on the shoulder. "Buckle up."

McCoy rolled his eyes as Jim passed him and sat in the Captain's chair.

"Scotty. How we doing?"

"Dilithium crystals at maximum, Captain," the Scot relayed. Then, "Git down!" The captain grinned, knowing that Keenser must be climbing on the engines again.

"Mr. Sulu. Prepare to engage thrusters."

Sulu tapped a few buttons, ready to blast into space, when the turbolift doors swished open. Jim turned, and could not entirely contain his grin.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" Spock asked, stepping out of the turbolift.

"Permission granted." Jim felt as though his face might break in half with the effort of trying not to smile.

Spock seemed to be smiling too, but in only his eyes, as he moved toward the Captain's chair. Jim rose to stand face to face with him. "As you have yet to select a First Officer, respectfully, I would like to submit my candidacy. Should you desire, I can provide character references."

Yes, humor definitely glinted in his eyes. "It would be my honor, Commander," Jim responded.

Spock inclined his head, still smiling without really smiling. Jim wanted to whoop for joy.

Spock took his place at the science station and Jim returned to his chair, that unbridled grin wide on his face. "Maneuvering thrusters, Mr. Sulu."

"Thrusters on standby."

"Take us out."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

The ship thrummed with power. With a surge, they leaped into warp. Jim continued to grin as they sped across the galaxy, faster than light.

This was how it was supposed to be. Montgomery 'Scotty' Scott, crooning to the engines. Nyota Uhura, flipping through sub-space frequencies. Pavel Chekov, adjusting their course. Hikaru Sulu, steering them through the vastness of space. Dr. Leonard 'Bones' McCoy, scowling at anyone who entered his domain in Sickbay. And Spock at his right hand.

He didn't know yet what they would do together, or even if they could all become the tight-knit friends that the elder Spock had cherished in his own time. But he knew that they were stronger together. And when they got to know each other, they would become the strongest command crew in the Federation. Together, these seven could rise to any challenge they encountered.

* * *

**A/N:** Show of hands. Who DIDN'T take the 'as my First Officer' part off of Jim's sentences? *crickets* Yeah. That's what I thought. Me too. But not quite yet, my dears.

Well…there you have it. We've reached the end of the movie. Reviews and comments are greatly appreciated, and I'll try to reply. To those who reviewed but don't have accounts, get accounts so I can reply to you! I feel so bad, with all your amazing support, and not being reply personally! And **mou**, did you read the A/N's? cause I DID explain that. MULTIPLE TIMES. But you're about to get your wish.

Thanks a million to everyone who reads, reviews, alerts, favs…. To those who like it, but are silent, come on out and tell me what you think! I love to hear from you!

EDIT 5/25/13: I went back and altered some stuff to fit with the _Into Darkness_ canon, because I've decided to rework that movie too (Gods help you all).


	7. The Savage Curtain

**Love Means Living And Dying**

**Disclaimer: **Well, it's Christmas Eve. Who knows? By the time you read this, I _might_ own them. But honestly, the closest I'm expecting is Season Two. I do own my very own phaser, though.

A/N: *Prostrates self* PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! I know it has been forever and a day since I updated and most of you have probably forgotten I even exist by now. I had the worst writers block that I have ever had, but I thought about this story almost every day. I knew exactly where I wanted it to go, and which episode I was going with, but I couldn't figure out how to finagle the ending into what I wanted it to be. Akili—my lame-brain fairy muse—seemed to think it was a good time for extended and involuntary hiatus. But I do SWEAR, no matter how long it takes, barring absolute tragedy, I will not give up on this story.

(Warning: Self-advertising. If any of you are Supernatural fans—and I hope that at least one of you is that cool—I have a short little fic up for the kick-ass Winchester brothers)

This chapter is a special Christmas present for my most exalted JJ—how would I get by without you? This one is yours. And I must also dedicate this to my Anda-nee, who kept kicking me in the pants to finish this chapter. I don't think I could have done it without their ever-forceful support.

Merry Christmas to all of you! And if you don't celebrate Christmas, I hope your holiday is happy!

Much love to anyone who's actually going to read this!

**Chapter Six: The Savage Curtain**

_Space._

_The final frontier._

_These are voyages of the Starship __**Enterprise.**_

_Its ongoing mission: To explore strange new worlds. To seek out new life, and new civilizations._

_To boldly go where no man has gone before._

Captain's personal log. Our first mission was simple. Go to the edge of the galaxy and take readings, scans—basically, check out whatever might prevent us from intergalactic travel. We encountered an anomaly that gave strange psychic powers to the two people with the highest Esper ratings on the ship: Gary Mitchell, and Elizabeth Dehner. They both died in the line of duty. They are the first casualties of our official mission.

We are on our way back toward the Terran system, waiting for our next assignment. There isn't much to do, and I'm getting bored.

Spock and I are having some issues figuring each other out…"

_There's the understatement of the year…_

"Captain, he is a danger to the ship. We must incarcerate him before he does more critical damage."

"Spock, he hasn't done anything yet!"

"You are ignoring the critical part of that statement: yet."

"Spock, I am not going to throw him in the brig just because he can read really fast."

"Captain, all evidence and observation suggests the eventual manifestation of more harmful powers."

"You have any proof?"

"I do not have any concrete evidence with which to prove my suspicions to you. However, the tricorder readings indicate that such a progression is logical."

"Well, if you don't have proof, I'm not going to put him in jail."

"Then may I suggest that we at least place him in isolation, under the careful observation of Doctor McCoy and his staff?"

"He hasn't shown any sign of wanting to hurt anybody. He's already confined to Sickbay; I'm not going to cut him off from visitors unless I have to."

"His increasing symptoms of a god-complex are significant enough that it is ninety-seven percent certain that he will soon consider himself above the rest of the crew, and you as well. As such, he may attempt to overtake the ship—"

"I know Gary. He's a good guy, Spock. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Be that as it may, he is still merely human, and as such, vulnerable to his own ego. This is made all the worse by the fact that he himself does not truly understand his powers."

"'Merely human?' God, Spock, you sure know how to sound condescending. If it were a Vulcan in Gary's place, would you still be telling me to lock him up?"

"It was not my intention to offend you. I must admit that if a Vulcan were to have gained these powers, there would be far less danger. Vulcans have more command of their emotions and bodies than humans, and as such, would have far more control, and the sudden power would not influence their actions as greatly."

"Yeah, well, either way, I'm not going to toss Gary in brig without good, solid evidence. If you have some, I'll be more than happy to consider it."

"Captain, please, consider the psychological evidence—"

"_Enough_, Mr. Spock."

He and Spock had had one misunderstanding after another, and it felt like their relationship had taken a giant leap backward. The tentative beginnings of friendship, or at least a solid working relationship, had deteriorated into what closely resembled animosity.

They had different ways of thinking, and they communicated ineffectively—enough so to cause difficulties in the running of the ship. Spock was incredibly precise and correcting, which, while occasionally useful, was essentially irritating, and he seemed dead-set on questioning, extensively and thoroughly, the logic behind each decision Jim made.

Jim was, apparently, determined to oversee everything himself, and under the stress, his temper was at a short fuse. Mixed with his pride and his drive to be perfect (to give the Admiralty no reason to complain), he reacted with unnecessary force when Spock questioned his orders. He was apparently resolved to carry the weight of the ship on his shoulders alone.

"But maybe things will get better as we go…"

* * *

Jim drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. His chin rested in his other hand.

Sulu yawned. Chekov rubbed his eyes. Uhura was searching the Net for shoes on her PADD. The only one who didn't look bored to death was Spock, and his face was as blank as ever. Jim suspected that Spock could effectively daydream—maybe even fall asleep, who knew?—without his expression ever changing.

For the past week, they had been staring out at black, dead space. The monotony was broken only by the stars, which really just qualified as a different flavor of boredom. Everyone was getting a bit restive.

Finally, Jim couldn't take it anymore. He slammed his palm down onto the armrest. Sulu twitched, Uhura jumped, and Chekov emitted a strange combination of a yelp and a gulp. They all stared at him and his face flushed beet red. Jim threw back his head and began to laugh. Uhura and Sulu joined in, and Chekov began to giggle reluctantly. They laughed for a long time, glad that _something_ had finally happened.

"That was awesome," Jim gasped as they wound down, wiping his eyes.

Sulu turned to his friend and said, "What was that, Pav?"

The Navigator shrugged. "I do not know. It just came out."

Uhura shook her head. "There is no word for that sound. In any language."

"Captain," Spock interjected. "Were you not preparing to speak?"

"Oh, yeah. Thanks Spock," Jim nodded. He addressed everyone on the bridge; "Okay, off-book here: Who's as bored as I am?"

All but Spock thrust their hands into the air. The Captain rolled his eyes at Spock and smiled at everyone else. "Good. Now. It's not dignified, it's not professional, and it would probably give Admiral Barnett a heart attack." The others exchanged nervous glances and Spock looked wary. "That said," he continued, "Who wants to play a game?"

Every hand shot up again, except Spock's. "Great! What do you wanna play? There's Twenty Questions, I Spy…" he trailed off as a chorus went up around the room. "Twenty Questions it is, then. Who wants to go first?"

Chekov raised his hand eagerly, practically bouncing in his seat. Jim indicated the Russian with a lazy wave.

"Are you an animal?" Sulu asked immediately.

Chekov shook his head.

"A mineral?" Uhura chimed in. Another head shake.

It went on until they only had one question left. They looked at each other uncertainly. Chekov looked as though he might burst with glee. "You're the theory of transwarp beaming!" Jim cried, eyes lighting up.

Chekov nodded, amazed. "Aye, Keptin, wery good!"

Sulu stared at Jim. "How the hell did you get that?"

He shrugged. "Lucky guess? Chekov's brilliant, so it had to be something tricky, and he's been picking Scotty's brain about it lately, so…" He shrugged again.

Uhura shook her head in disbelief. "If this wasn't Twenty Questions, I would swear he cheated," she said to Sulu. "As it is, I don't whether to be impressed, suspicious, or afraid."

Sulu lifted his hands. "It's Jim: I'm always a bit of all three."

Jim waved and they turned to him in mild surprise. "Uh, yeah, hi. I'm right here."

They stared at him. "What's your point?" Uhura asked. Jim glared and the other three began to laugh.

"Spock," Jim said, walking to the science station. "Your turn." They fell silent expectantly.

Spock folded his hands. "I thank you, but I have no wish to participate."

"Of course you don't," Jim agreed amiably. "Now pick something."

"Captain, I do not have any desire to join in your activities."

"Yeah, I know," Jim smiled.

"Then why do you insist on behaving as if I shall?"

Jim put a hand on his shoulder. "Spock, you gotta learn to lighten up a little, or no one is going to like you," the blond said seriously.

Spock's brow furrowed. "I assure you, Captain, that whether or not I am 'liked' is not a factor that affects my actions," Spock replied stiffly.

Blue eyes rolled. "Just do it, Spock," he said, irritation creeping into his tone.

"It is juvenile and purposeless," the Vulcan argued.

"But it's _fun_."

Spock raised a condescending eyebrow. "I do not believe that is relevant."

"Spock," the captain sighed. "Play."

"I will not." He turned back to his scanners.

"Just do it."

"No."

"Spock."

"Captain?" He lifted an eyebrow.

"Consider it an order."

"According to regulation, a captain may not use his authority for anything unrelated to the safe running of the ship, the mission at hand, or the safe handling of the personnel."

Jim's eye twitched. "For Pete's sake! Can't you just relax a little and play a game with your crewmates?"

"I am capable of doing so," Spock conceded. "It is willingness I lack."

"Why?" the captain demanded, frustrated.

"It is not logical."

Jim ground his teeth. "Yeah, but it's not illogical either."

Spock raised his eyebrows coldly. "I disagree."

Inhaling through his nose, Jim placed his fists on his hips. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the bridge crew listening raptly. He thought hard for a moment. "Okay—how 'bout this? Constant work is unhealthy. It's a scientifically proven fact, right?"

Spock nodded once, albeit a tad reluctantly. "It is."

"You never do anything but work. It's not healthy. So playing a round of Twenty Questions will be good for you."

"Your argument disregards the fact that I am Vulcan. The rest I achieve when I am not on duty is sufficient. I am in excellent health. Your concern, however, is appreciated," he added, a hint of sarcasm in his eyes.

"Don't Vulcans ever play?"

Spock pursed his lips. "We are taught games as young children," he admitted. Jim grinned. "However," Jim's face fell slightly, "They are games of logic, math, and strategy. They are intended to educate, not to entertain." The blond scowled. Then his face brightened.

"Well, Twenty Questions is a game of deduction."

The Science Officer hesitated minutely. "Explain," he requested.

"You have to find the answer by elimination, through the questions, and by what you know of the person."

Spock considered that for a long moment, while Jim held his breath. "I accept your premise," he said finally. "I had not considered that point of view." _Got him_, Jim thought gleefully.

"Does that mean you'll play?"

"I have agreed that there is a certain mental agility required to succeed. I have not acquired any desire to join you."

"Come on," Uhura broke in, batting her eyelashes playfully.

Sulu and Chekov took this as their cue. "Yeah, Mr. Spock, there's nothing wrong with having a bit of fun."

"Please, Mr. Spock," Chekov begged earnestly. "You are so smart, it would make the game wery challenging for us!"

The Vulcan blinked, somewhat startled by suddenly being ganged up on.

Jim smirked. "You're outnumbered."

Spock's left eyebrow went up haughtily. "Unfortunately, this is not a mathematical equation. The numbers do not change the result."

"Fine." Jim turned and marched back to his chair angrily. "Sulu, you go."

They had gotten to question sixteen and everyone was stumped. Jim pressed his lips together in concentration. Finally, he shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted reluctantly. His eyes wandered over the bridge, almost as though he was looking for clues. He stopped at the science station.

"Spock," he said slowly, realization creeping onto his face. "You know, don't you?"

"I believe I have come to the correct conclusion, yes," he acknowledged.

"Well?" the captain demanded eagerly. Everyone was looking at Spock expectantly. "What is it?"

Surprise entered his dark eyes. "You wish me to reveal the answer?" he queried incredulously. They nodded. "Does that not defeat the purpose of your questioning?"

Jim waved a hand impatiently. "We don't know."

"You have four questions left," Spock pointed out.

"We don't even know what to ask," Nyota returned. "Come on, Spock."

He looked at them all curiously before turning to Sulu. "The code of chivalry observed by knights in Earth's Medieval Period."

Sulu raised his eyebrows, impressed. "On the nose," he confirmed.

Spock regarded him confusedly. "I beg your pardon?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "It means you got it right."

The Vulcan's eyebrow twitched upward.

"Come on, Spock," Jim exploded. Spock blinked twice in shock. "Just one round!"

The others took up the chorus.

Spock gave a minute sigh. "Do you plan to continue to harass me until I agree?" he asked with a touch of weariness.

"I do," Jim verified easily.

Spock closed his eyes briefly. "Very well. You may begin."

A huge—_almost indecent,_ Spock thought rather indignantly—grin spread across Jim's face. "Are you an animal?"

"Negative, Captain."

"Plant?"

"No."

"Mineral?" Sulu wanted to know.

"No."

Chekov spoke up. "Manufactured."

"No."

"Drat," the Russian muttered, and Sulu grinned at him.

"It is intangible?" Nyota asked.

"Yes."

"Wait." Jim put up his hands. "Intangible like oxygen, or intangible like the theory of transwarp beaming?"

"I was under the impression the questions are required to be phrased in a correct/incorrect format."

"Yeah, Captain," Uhura taunted. He glowered at her.

"Fine. Is it intangible like the theory of transwarp beaming?"

Spock inclined his head and Jim glared at the hint of amusement he saw in the brown eyes. "It is."

"Okay…" he mused, rubbing his chin. "Intangible like a theory…"

"_Is_ it a theory?" Sulu wondered.

"No."

And it continued on in that vein, until they hit twenty.

"Are you the sound barrier?" asked Jim.

"I am not." There was definite amusement in his eyes now, Jim saw, resisting the urge to stamp his foot. "That is your twentieth inquiry. I believe that means—" _How the _hell_ can he _smirk_ like that without moving his face?_ Jim wondered touchily—"I win."

"What were you?" the blond demanded.

"Thought," said the First simply. Jim blinked foolishly.

"_Thought_?" he repeated in disbelief.

"Thought."

Jim mulled that over, scowling heavily. "Pointy-eared bastard," he muttered sullenly, flopping back to slouch in his chair.

Spock cocked an eyebrow but offered no reply. "I found that exercise to be surprisingly mentally stimulating," he remarked, hands behind his back. "I may take part in such games more frequently."

* * *

The rest of Alpha shift passed pleasantly, with the games ranging from I Spy, to the Alphabet Game, to simple joke-telling. Jim was still laughing as they left the bridge and made their way to the mess hall in a group.

Somehow, the entire command crew ended up sitting together at one table. Usually Spock and Uhura sat off by themselves, occasionally joined by one of the nurses, who had quickly bonded with Nyota. Scotty, Sulu, and Chekov grouped together, and Jim sat with a different table every day in an effort to get to know his crew, and McCoy, wearing his habitual scowl, was never far from Jim's elbow. The doctor seemed to think that if Jim was out of his sight any more than was absolutely necessary, he would somehow trip out of an airlock. Of course, since he himself perpetually seemed on the verge of pushing Jim out of one, no one was one hundred percent sure.

Jim sat between Scotty and McCoy, who had been swept along as the group reached the cafeteria doors.

"Lemme get this straight," McCoy growled. "You spent the entire shift playin' games?" He looked as though he didn't know whether to be amused or indignant.

"Ah've got one question fer ya," Scotty piped up. Jim turned. The engineer stuck out his lip in a pout. "Why didja na invite me?"

Chuckling, Jim slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Her 'ample nacelles' not keeping you busy, Scotty?" he joked.

The Scotsman shrugged and forced out his words around a meatball sub. Since Jim had rescued him from the desolation of Delta Vega, Scotty had been wolfing down every type of sandwich known to man, and few known exclusively to Orions. "She's a fine lady," he insisted. "But things do git a mite slow, at times."

"Well, I'll comm you up next time. And you, too, Bones."

Bones spluttered. "Now, wait a minute—who says I wanna—"

A peal of laughter interrupted him, and they all looked across the table. The Chief Nursing Officer had sat down next to Uhura, and had apparently cracked a joke, because she and Nyota had their heads together in a fit of giggles.

"What's up?" Jim asked as they caught their breath. They glanced toward him and collapsed again.

The captain turned to his friends, but they looked equally bewildered.

"Women," snorted McCoy. "I'll never understand 'em."

Scotty and Jim nodded fervently in agreement.

"I believe, Captain," Spock spoke up, "That you are the source of their amusement."

"What'd I do?"

"Apparently, some members of the crew find you aesthetically attractive," Spock answered indifferently, almost shrugging.

Jim squinted at him. "Y'know something, Spock?" he said finally.

Spock's brow creased. "I know many things, Captain, though I do not understand—" Jim cut him off with an impatient hand gesture.

"No. I mean, only you could make me feel guilty and insulted with the words _aesthetically attractive_." McCoy gave another snort, shaking his head. Spock looked mildly startled.

"That was not my intention," he replied. "However, it is somewhat concerning that your emotional state is so unstable." Bones and Jim exchanged eyerolls.

"It was sort of a joke, Spock."

"'Sort of', Captain?" An eyebrow arched.

_Sigh._ "It was more of a comment on how irritating you are than a statement about my emotions," Jim informed him, piling his dishes onto his tray.

"I see." They stood simultaneously, and, after dumping their trays, strode in sync down the corridor.

"Where ya headed?" Jim inquired casually.

"To the deck six gym," was the stoic reply.

"Oh, me too." Jim's tone expressed surprise, and perhaps a hint of pleasure, as well as a bit of discomfort. He himself wasn't quite sure how he felt about it.

"Indeed? How do you intend to exercise?" Spock turned to face the blond as the turbolift rocketed upward.

The captain shrugged. "Not sure yet." His lips pursed in thought.

Spock clasped his hands behind his back as they made their way to the gym.

It took rather longer than it strictly should have, because Jim stopped to greet everyone he passed, and chat with those who wanted to. Every time he bid someone goodbye, and turned to find Spock waiting for him, a minor shock coursed through him.

* * *

Spock was curious. Part of him knew that he did not have to wait for Jim. He knew that Jim was surprised by it. Yet, he could not entirely suppress his amazement, because Jim was careful to address each crewmember by name and rank.

Spock saw him struggle briefly with more than one name, but each time, he pulled the correct one from somewhere in his head, and a sort of triumph lit his eyes.

The First Officer observed his captain, and was impressed. Despite Jim's obnoxious and often grating attitude, he was dedicated. To his job. To his duty. To his crew. It only confirmed Spock's initial observation. Jim cared more than he let anyone see. He was trying very hard to get know every person who worked under him. He greeted each with a courtesy that astounded Spock. He had respect for his crew, and he treated them not as a distant superior would, but as a personal friend.

And Spock was impressed. He could not bring himself to walk on, could not tear his eyes away from this display of devotion.

Eventually they turned into the gym and the locker room. They turned their backs to each other as they changed into black workout pants and, in Spock's case, a black muscle shirt.

Silently, they went through warm-up routines before Jim moved to the punching bags, Spock to the mats. Jim lost himself in the rhythms of complex mixed martial arts forms. Spock moved through the traditional forms of the Vulcan martial arts.

* * *

Jim rammed the heel of his foot into the bag and fell into a fighting stance. Finished, he still felt restless and tense. His eyes swept the room, searching for something difficult and fast-paced. Nothing. With a sigh, he shifted from foot to foot.

His eyes landed on the Vulcan. He paced over to his First Officer, who was whirling through intricate and alien martial arts moves. "Whatcha doing?" he asked, standing on the edge of the mat. Spock flashed past him, the Vulcan's heel slicing through the air mere inches from Jim's face. The captain flinched.

"It is the Vulcan martial art of Suss Mahn," he replied, never stopping.

"Cool." A pause. "Where did you learn it?"

"In school."

Jim was taken aback. "They taught you that in school?"

"Yes."

"Wow," he laughed. "I wouldn't think Vulcans would teach that kind of thing in school."

"It is a class similar to what you humans refer to as physical education," Spock said, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"Still—it doesn't seem logical."

"It is quite logical to be in optimal physical condition at all times, as well to be capable of defending one-self, should the need arise."

_Yep, definitely a bit pissed off,_ Jim thought. "What else did you do in Vulcan PE?" he wondered.

"Endurance, flexibility, and strength," he responded shortly. "I would appreciate it if you would allow to me to concentrate."

Jim ignored him. "Did you have any other non-academic classes?"

Finally, Spock came to a stop. "If you insist on remaining, please cease your incessant babbling," he requested firmly.

"Well? Did you have art classes? Home economics?"

Spock stalked up to Jim, eyes flashing in irritation. "Captain, is it not satisfying enough to pester me constantly when we are on duty? Must you continue this harassment even during my personal time?"

Jim's smile disappeared. "Harassment?" he echoed angrily. "Do I bother you that much?"

"You requested my presence here, Jim. Yet, you seem intent on driving me to request a transfer."

Jim laughed again, but there was no humor there now. He put his face up close to Spock's. "Why do you try so hard to be as frustrating as possible?" he retorted. "I can't do a thing without you right there, questioning whether my actions are logical."

"Perhaps if you paused to consider my words, you would not so often need to be reminded."

"If you would just chill out a little! Not everything I do is going to get us killed!"

"You become too emotional, too often. You must learn objectivity. Your emotions cannot be your single guiding force."

"And logic alone can't be effective in command. Some emotion, some intuition—" He broke off, eyes shining strangely. "Spar with me." Jim demanded savagely. He stepped onto the mat and fell into his fighting stance.

Spock blinked, taken aback. "Spar with you?" he repeated, momentarily stymied by this sudden change in direction.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"We can both let our aggression out a little," Jim said. _Jimbo, what kinda moron are you?_ Oh great. Now his inner voice sounded like Bones. _That_ couldn't be a good sign.

"That—would not be wise," Spock rebuked quietly, fists clenching subconsciously.

"Why on Earth not?"

"Have you forgotten the last time we engaged in physical combat?"

"Oh." Jim realized. "Whatever. You were out of control. I really wanna throw some punches at you. Come on."

Spock wavered, and then stepped into his own stance. "Very well. If I begin to injure you—"

"Let's do this," Jim commanded, face set. Spock nodded, body tensing.

They eyed each other for a long moment, intensity and barely contained wrath in their gazes.

Jim attacked, throwing a blurred right hook at Spock's left ear, but Spock was gone, jabbing his fist into Jim's kidney. His breath whooshed out and he doubled over. Spock hesitated for half a second, but it was enough. Jim whirled around and the bridge of his foot connected with the back of Spock's knee, which buckled and he fell heavily to his knees. Jim came at him, arms slamming forward toward Spock's throat and nose, but Spock grabbed Jim's wrists in a movement too fast to see, and stood smoothly, using his leverage to shove Jim back. He exerted pressure on the tanned arms, twisting them behind Jim's back. "Do you admit to defeat?" Spock asked in a low voice. Jim grinned fiercely and levered himself back, writhing, and Spock felt another flash of pain in his leg, matching the one now blooming in his stomach, and Jim wrenched free. He turned to face Spock again.

"Not by a long shot. You?" he answered cockily.

Dropping into their beginning stances, they circled for a long moment, eyeing each other warily. In another blur, Spock's leg lashed out. Jim barely flung an arm out in time to keep from being concussed. As it was, the kick numbed his arm, but he twisted, hooking the arm around his opponent's extended leg and sliding to put his back to Spock's chest, simultaneously driving an elbow into his stomach. Spock grabbed Jim's biceps and tugged, slipping to one side and yanking his leg away. Jim hit the mat and rolled, tangling his feet in Spock's and bringing the Vulcan crashing down as well. Immediately, Jim was on top of him, holding him down.

"You are quicker than I anticipated," Spock observed. Jim grinned.

"Come on, Spock," Jim taunted. "Don't hold out on me."

The First Officer merely said, "Very well," and brought his legs up, braced his shins against Jim's chest, and pushed. Before Jim realized what was happening, he was pinned to the floor, Spock's legs straddling him, feet pressing into his knees. Unusually warm, long-fingered hands were wrapped in an iron grip around his wrists, pinning Jim's arms above his head.

Their chests were heaving with exertion, and sweat glistened on their skin. Jim's hair was tousled, his eyes were dark, and his lips were pulled back in a feral smile. Spock's hair was only slightly mussed, but his eyes were bright and his lips were parted, his breath huffing through them audibly.

Jim nodded in consent, and Spock released Jim at once and rose to his feet. Jim clambered up less gracefully.

"I believe the victory is mine," Spock said, lips twitching.

Jim smiled and laughed. The tension was gone from both of them now. "I guess so. But that was fun. Sort of cathartic, really. We should do it again sometime."

Spock nodded. "I found the exercise satisfying as well. It presents a challenge formerly not present in my exercise routine. I would not be averse to making it a regular occurrence."

"Sounds good," he agreed as they exited the gym. "Now how about—" The wall comm chirped his name. He sighed and held up a finger to Spock before answering. "Kirk here."

"Captain, a small vessel has appeared, directly in our path," the Navigator on duty, a middle-aged man named Jacobs, reported. "It looks like a cargo vessel. However, there are no cargo shuttles scheduled through this sector at this time, and we are receiving no response to our hails."

"I'll be right up. Tell Communications to keep hailing, all frequencies. Try to determine if life support is operational, and see if you can detect life forms. Follow it if it moves away."

"Aye, Captain. Bridge out." The transmission cut, and Jim sighed as he made to contact the rest of the command crew.

He led Spock into the turbolift, and when it opened on their deck, he said, "Throw on a fresh uniform and meet me on the bridge." Spock nodded.

As they were the senior officers, their quarters were the only two on the hall, and they were the largest on the ship. The rooms did adjoin through a shared shower area, but as of yet, neither of them had crossed it. They had worked out a morning routine so that they never walked in on each other accidentally.

He stepped onto the bridge, and glanced around as he sat in his empty chair. Spock was bent over his sensors. _Damn,_ Jim thought. _Five hundred years ago he could've been a minute-man for the revolutionaries_. Uhura was frowning.

"Uhura?" he asked.

She turned to him, looking vaguely annoyed. "Nothing. No response."

"Spock?"

Spock turned smoothly. "Life support is functional. Four life forms have been detected. Analyzing now." As if on cue, there was a beep from behind him. He checked the results and faced Jim again. "Human, Captain."

"Is it an Earth ship?" Jim asked, rising and moving to Spock.

"Difficult to say, sir. I'm getting no registration from it."

The comm chirped and Jim strode back to the captain's chair, though he didn't sit. "What do you have for me, Scotty?"

"He'll soon overload his engines, sir," Scotty replied.

"I agree. He is pushing his ship too hard," Spock added.

"He knows we're after him," Sulu said. "He's changing course again."

"Stay with him."

Spock spoke up. "Captain, we are approaching an asteroid belt."

"Deflector shields up, Chekov. Stay with him, Sulu. He'll probably try to lose us in the belt."

"I have a sensor reading on the vessel," Spock announced. "It is a small class J cargo ship. And his engines are superheating."

Jim turned to Uhura. "Warn that other Captain. If he loses power while in the asteroid belt—"

"Too late, sir!" Chekov exclaimed. "Unless we put a deflector screen around him, he will be smashed."

"If we do, our own engines shall overload," Spock stated coolly.

Jim thought for a moment. "Put a screen around him, Chekov. Scotty, ready in the transporter room. I want that crew beamed aboard as soon as you can get a lock."

"I'we got him, sir, but the screen won't hold for long."

"We are starting to overload. Engine temperature rising."

Jim said nothing.

"Cap'n, the engines are reaching the danger zone," Scotty reported, sounding impatient.

"Our deflector screen is weakening," Chekov added.

"I'll get you something, Scotty. Lieutenant Uhura, tell him we're screening him but it won't hold for long. Tell him we have to beam him aboard now."

"Yes, sir." She put the receiver into her ear and began twisting her dials.

"Asteroid approaching, Captain," Spock said. "On a direct course for the cargo ship. Impact in two minutes." He turned to face the captain. "Our shields won't survive the collision, sir."

"Uhura?"

She shook her head. "Nothing yet, sir, relaying on all frequencies."

Suddenly, the bridge lights flickered. "One of our dilithium crystals, sir!" Sulu called out.

"Mr. Scott!" Jim yelled.

"Sir!" Uhura cried, standing. "I'm getting a hail!"

"Scotty?!"

"Ah've got it, Cap'n. Locking on."

"Thirty seconds," Spock interjected.

The lights flickered again. "Another crystal," stated Sulu grimly.

"Have you got them, Mr. Scott?" Jim demanded.

"One, Captain. Locked onto three others, and transporting now."

"Ten seconds to impact."

The lights fluttered once more, and everyone on the bridge waited with bated breath.

"Three…two…"

The asteroid slammed into the cargo ship, which exploded in pyrotechnic light show.

Silence.

"And we are out of the asteroid belt, Captain," said Spock.

"Screens down," Jim ordered quietly. "Mr. Scott, do you have the crew?" He was met with more silence. "Mr. Scott?" Nothing. Jim cast a worried glance at Spock, who merely raised his eyebrows in return. "Scotty!"

"A-aye, Cap'n," came the shaky reply. Jim flopped back in relief. "I've got 'em."

"If they can walk, send them to my ready room. Correction—" he said icily, turning back. "I want them there whether they can walk or not." Turning, he jerked his head at the Science Officer. "Spock." Wordlessly, Spock rose and followed him into the turbolift.

When they reached his ready room, he ruffled through the stacks on his surprisingly organized desk and came up with a PADD. The door whooshed open, but Jim didn't turn.

"Cap'n," Scotty said. Jim looked up sharply at the strange tone in his engineer's voice. A moment later, his jaw dropped as three…_entrancing_…women, in borderline-indecent dresses, slinked through his door. _At the very least,_ Jim thought numbly, _indecently sparkly. _He closed his mouth with effort and gulped, hard.

Somewhat helplessly, he looked to Spock, who merely stared back expressionlessly, but Jim could swear he saw a hint of amusement in those dark eyes. His irritation broke through the momentary—_confusion_, and he turned back to the women, setting his jaw. For the first time, he noticed the man that stood with them. He blinked. If the women were stunningly beautiful, the man accompanying them was stunningly ridiculous. He was pot-bellied and chubby-cheeked, and he was sporting a ludicrous mustache. His fashion sense left everything to be desired; he was wearing a puffy coral shirt, blue pants, a cowboy hat, and a long, dangly earring. He had an entirely too-jovial smile, and his eyes were shifty.

When he spoke, his Irish accent was as thick and preposterous as his mustache. "Leo Walsh, at your service," he announced, teeth flashing in a way that struck Jim as distinctly suspicious. Or maybe it was the man himself, whom Jim found suspicious, not the teeth. Hell, maybe it was both. Either way, Jim knew that the metaphorical alarm bells were ringing madly in his head.

Jim did not smile back. "I am Captain James Kirk," he replied authoritatively. "Is this your crew?" His gaze shifted briefly to the women, all of whom were giving him sultry come-hither looks.

"Eh, no, Captain," Walsh said. "This—is me cargo."

Jim and Spock exchanged startled glances.

* * *

"Captain, we must take this man into custody," Spock advised. He and Jim were alone in the ready room. Walsh and the women had been confined to quarters, two security guards posted inside the room.

"Not yet," Jim said as he tossed a small rubber ball into the air, reclining in his desk chair.

"Surely you do not—"

Jim caught the ball and sat up straight. "No, no, I totally agree that he ought to be locked up," he assured. "Something about him sends up all the wrong flags."

"Then why-"

"Frankly, Spock, as slimy as the guy is, I don't think the full force of the brig is necessary to contain him. He's more…con-artist, than terrorist. And he might be more cooperative at the hearing if he isn't sore from being tossed in prison."

Spock raised his eyebrows. "That is logical, Captain," he approved, sounding a tiny bit impressed.

"Gee, Spock, don't sound so surprised," Jim pouted. "It hurts my feelings."

An unimpressed eyebrow went up. Jim chuckled in response.

"There is another serious matter that must be addressed immediately."

"Shoot," said Jim, leaning back languidly, but adopting an intent expression.

He got a slight twitch of the eyebrow for the idiom, but otherwise, the First Officer declined to comment. "Our dilithium crystals, sir. I have spoken with Mr. Scott; we have only one crystal remaining, and even that is cracked. It won't last, sir. Not with all our power being channeled through it."

"Jim, Spock, it's Jim. I take it you already have a solution in mind?" He raised his eyebrows with a half-smile.

"There is a lithium mining operation on Rigel XII," he said in answer. "High grade ore, I've heard."

"Sounds swell," the captain replied smiling cockily.

"Your turns of phrase are most illogical," Spock remarked, brow furrowing.

The blond snorted. "Do you realize that 'turn of phrase' is actually a turn of phrase?" he inquired sarcastically. The Science Officer raised an eyebrow.

"Indeed."

"Then, if they're so illogical—" Jim clutched a hand to his chest in theatric horror "—why do you use them, O Quintessence of All Things Logical, Mathematical, and Statistical?"

Both of the diagonal brows arched upward. "Perhaps it is an unfortunate consequence of remaining in the presence of one so illogical as you, Captain."

Jim sat back, startled, and then laughed loudly.

Spock's mouth twitched slightly and the right brow rose a fraction of an inch. Jim's laughter faded, and he shook his head at the Vulcan. There was a moment of not-uncomfortable silence.

"And the women, Captain?" Spock asked, returning to business.

Jim sighed and tossed the ball up. "Yes, the women…What about them, Mr. Spock?"

"They have already escaped from the quarters we assigned them, and they now wander about the ship."

"They have a strange effect on the men," the captain mused. "Almost hypnotic. That must be how they got out. The guards just let them go…"

"Yes," the Vulcan agreed. "It is almost as if they were releasing the same pheromones as an Orion."

Jim shot up. "They aren't, are they?"

He shook his head. "None that I can detect. However, I believe it would be prudent to have Doctor McCoy examine them."

"Good idea. Okay," Jim said, standing in one swift motion. "We both need showers, so we'll do that and then we'll round up the women. After the good doctor gives them a check-up, we can go ahead with the hearing. Sound like a plan?"

"It seems acceptable."

"I'll use the gym showers, so you go ahead and use ours."

"Thank you, Captain."

"It's Jim, Spock."

An eyebrow went up.

* * *

Jim threw a towel around his neck on his way out of the locker room. He headed back to his room to grab a snack before going to hunt for the three women. His door swooped open and he tossed his towel in the laundry chute and turned to the replicator.

"Wha—?!" he yelped, jumping. The figure on his bed sat up slowly.

"I hope you don't mind, Captain," the blond in the glittery pink dress said in a low, sensual voice.

Jim tried to calm his heart, which was thudding erratically, though whether from fright or the beautiful woman before him, he didn't know. He thought it was probably the fright, since even to his mind, a woman whose name he didn't know lying in wait on his bed was slutty. Not to mention _creepy._

"As a matter of fact, I do!" he snapped.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, batting her eyelashes demurely. "I had to get away. Your men…I could feel them watching me…following me with their eyes. I had to escape from it. I just ran into the first place I could."

_Well, maybe if you didn't wear a sparkly, low-cut dress and give everyone those bedroom eyes,_ he thought in annoyance. Out loud, he merely said, "Yes, I'll have to talk to them about that."

"I suppose it's loneliness. I can understand loneliness," she continued, getting up and walking (_read: slinking_, he thought) toward him. Her eyes met his. "But it must be even worse for you," she said softly. "A ship's captain…" She reached out a hand and traced a pattern on his chest.

"Miss…" He tried to retreat but his back hit a wall.

"So much…responsibility." Her arms looped around his neck and she smiled flirtatiously. "I read once that a captain is supposed to be a paragon of virtue, I never met a paragon."

Jim couldn't help but smile back slightly at that. "Neither have I."

"Of course not, none of us are," she said sensibly. "But some of us try to be," she added, looking up at him.

He reached up and unlatched her arms, sliding away. "Miss…" he started again.

"Evie," she supplied. "Evie McHuron."

"Miss McHuron," repeated a cultured voice. Jim whipped his head around and felt a twinge of relief at seeing Spock standing there, hands behind his back, as cool and clear-headed as ever. "You were confined to quarters. Furthermore, even a passenger not subject to confinement is strictly prohibited from entering personal quarters without direct invitation from the crewmember to whom those quarters are assigned. That you have entered the Captain's quarters uninvited is all the more egregious."

Evie blinked. "I—What?" she asked, flummoxed.

"He said, 'you weren't supposed to leave your quarters, coming into anyone else's is a no-no, and coming into mine is a big no-no," Jim rattled off. "In other words…Bad girl." Spock cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh." She smiled, and then frowned at Spock. "I wasn't doing any harm."

Both of Spock's eyebrows shot up. "That does not change the fact that you have taken advantage of the Captain's hospitality." Turning his back on Evie, who was mouthing wordlessly, he faced the captain. "My apologies; I also should not have entered your quarters uninvited. However, I overheard part of your conversation and concluded that my interruption would not be unwelcome." His eyes twinkled and Jim smiled slightly in response.

"No," he replied. "It wasn't. Don't worry about it, Mr. Spock."

"I am Vulcan," he said. "I am not capable of worry." He wiped a droplet of water off of his cheek and for the first time Jim processed exactly what he was seeing. Spock was still damp from his shower and he was wearing only his trousers. Looking down, Jim saw his feet, toenails tinged slightly green around the edges, sinking into the carpet. The blue-eyed man did not even try to restrain his grin. For some reason, Spock's bare feet seemed to remove his dignity far more than his bare chest.

Jim turned back to Evie, grin dissolving. "Miss McHuron, do you know where the other women are?"

She nodded. "They're probably back in our quarters by now."

"Lovely," said Jim. He grabbed her by the elbow and nodded to Spock. "Meet me in the conference room with the others who need to be at the hearing.

"Yes, Captain." Spock went to the bathroom door and through to his own quarters.

Jim led Evie out of his quarters and down the hall. In the turbolift, she gently tugged her arm out of his grasp.

"I'm not going to run from you, Captain," she murmured. He spared her a glance before setting off again, at a pace that had her trotting to keep up.

At the quarters given to Walsh and the women, the captain scolded the security guards for letting the women out, and then had them escort the 'guests' to the conference room.

Entering the conference room, he nodded to Spock who responded in kind, and ordered the guards to stand by the door. He sat next to Spock, directly across from Walsh. Jim fixed his eyes on Walsh, staring at him intently. Walsh gave an awkward chuckle and avoided meeting Jim's eyes, but Jim kept his gaze locked on the mustachioed man's face, trying to unnerve him. It was working; he was sweating slightly, though he kept his unconvincing innocent smile plastered to his face.

It didn't take long to find out that Leo Walsh's name was not, in fact, Leo Walsh. _Well,_ _**duh,**_ Jim thought. 'Walsh' protested, but Spock didn't give an inch, and—Jim noted with certain sadistic satisfaction—appeared just as fed up with this con man as Jim was. His real name, they found, was Harcourt 'Harry' Fenton Mudd. _No wonder he gave a fake one._

The more startling information they managed to wring out of him was that his "business", as it were, was 'wiv-ing settlers'. Providing wives for lonely settlers. Jim's disgust grew with every word (now unaccented) that oozed out of the slimy creep in front of him.

"Mr. Spock, run his background and credentials," he ordered.

"Aye, Captain." The computer whirred softly. It beeped and began reeling off the particulars of a long and not-very-glorious criminal history.

"Well. It looks like we have inadvertently done a great public service by following that cargo ship, wouldn't you agree, Science Officer?" the captain asked drolly, leaning and drumming his fingers on the table. Neither of the commanding officers took their eyes off the extremely jumpy man before them.

"I would indeed, Captain," Spock replied.

"Now, gentlemen," Mudd laughed anxiously. "Surely you aren't going to take the word of that soulless hunk of metal over that of a real, flesh-and-blood man?"

Both regarded him expressionlessly. He began to sweat profusely. "Mr. Mudd, you do not have the license required to pilot or captain a ship." Spock's voice was absolutely devoid of emotion.

Mudd leaned forward. "Yes, in fact I do—"

"Incorrect," the computer chirped. "License revoked for illegal trafficking of non-tradable substances."

Mudd gritted his teeth and muttered curses.

"We are going to stop at Rigel XII to replace the dilithium crystals we lost chasing your ship," Jim informed him icily. "After our repairs are completed we will bring you back to a Federal base to stand trial."

"On what grounds, Captain?!" Mudd cried.

"Ignoring hail from a Federation vessel, resisting capture, causing damage to a starship, illegally piloting and captaining what I am sure was a stolen vessel, for starters," Jim recited grimly. "I'm sure Mr. Spock and I can find plenty more when we examine your files a little more closely."

"Breaking parole, Captain," Spock spoke up then, augmenting Jim's threat. Jim raised his eyebrows at Mudd condescendingly. Mudd gulped, sitting back, and Jim turned, giving Spock a tiny nod and a shadow of a smile. Spock returned the nod.

All business, Jim turned his gaze impassively on the women, all of whom were attempting to look alluring. _If you weren't trying so hard, you might actually get somewhere, _he wanted to say. "And you are?"

Mudd jumped in again. "This is Ruthie, Manda, and Evie," he rushed. "Aren't they lovely?"

"We've met," Evie said softly, eyes on the captain. "Haven't we, Captain?" This time, Jim could not help rolling his eyes or the small huff that escaped his lips. He turned away from her and looked to Spock again. Relieved, he noted that the Vulcan too appeared exasperated by the woman's persistence. Their eyes met, and for once, they shared a moment of complete understanding.

"Mr. Spock, data on witnesses?"

"One moment, Captain."

"No data," the computer reported.

"Computer, go to sensor probe. Any unusual readings?"

"No decipherable reading on females. However, unusual readings on male board members." Jim shot a fleeting look down the table at McCoy, Scotty, and Hanson. "Detecting high respiration patterns. Perspiration rates up. Heartbeat rapid. Blood pressure higher than normal."

"That's sufficient," Jim said quickly, cursing mentally. _Damn it all to hell, Bones!_ He glared furiously at the men, all of whom were looking extremely uncomfortable, and glanced at Mudd, who had a shadow of his smirk back. Jim cast an aggrieved glance at Spock, whose eyebrows were raised slightly with disapproval, and amusement. "Strike that from the record, Mr. Spock," he said quietly. Spock raised his eyebrows further as he complied, as if to say, 'I should certainly hope so.'

"D'you see, gentlemen?" Mudd said with his old swagger. "Three lovely ladies, destined for frontier planets. To be the companions of lonely men. To supply that warmth of a human touch that's so desperately needed. A wife, a home, a family." He clasped his hands on the table, taking on a serious expression. "Gentlemen. I look upon this work as a sacred public trust. I've devoted me whole life to it." He sighed for effect.

Unfortunately, the computer stole it back doubly by piping up with, "Incorrect."

His eyes shifted. "Well, I'm _about_ to start devoting my entire life to it!" he said hotly to the computer, and Jim had to stifle a laugh at the man's obvious frustration.

From there, Jim found out that the women came from planets populated only by women, or their own families. That they came voluntarily. After Evie's little display in his bedroom, that wasn't particularly shocking. He _was _shocked when he found that the women not only didn't mind being sold to men they had never met, they were desperate for it. "Please, Captain!" Evie cried. "There are men willing to marry us, and you're taking us in the wrong direction. Staring at us like we were—"

"That's enough, Evie," Mudd said sharply, with a false smile that did nothing to soften the command.

Jim resisted the urge to rub his temples. _Really,_ he thought in irritation, _you would think women of the twenty-third century would have a little more self-esteem._

"The only charges are against Mr. Mudd," Jim replied tiredly. "Do you have any defense to offer?" he asked of the man.

"Only Heaven's own truth," Mudd said in a self-righteous tone. "Which I have just given you."

_This is the _twenty-third_ century, _Jim thought again incredulously. _He can't really believe that one will work._

The captain again glanced briefly at the First Officer, who looked just as condescending of the statement as Jim felt.

"This hearing is closed," he announced. "Mr. Mudd is to be handed over to the legal authorities at our earliest opportunity."

The crewmembers rose and filed out. Kirk, however, turned at a tug on his shirt. "And what happens to us?" Evie demanded. "Help us, please, all of us!" She shook Jim slightly by the shoulders pleadingly, but he grabbed her wrists.

"Miss McHuron—"

At that moment the lights flickered and everyone froze.

Scotty walked back through the doors, grim-faced. "The last crystal's gone, sir."

"Captain," Sulu's voice rang from the comm. "Engineering reports that our entire life support system is now on batteries, sir."

_DAMNit!_ Jim cursed, brain speeding. _Thank goodness we still carry those archaic things!_

"Mr. Spock—" But Evie was still clutching at him, saying "Please."

"Miss McHuron—Mr. Spock, please have someone contact the miners on Rigel XII," he ordered, backing away and detaching himself with effort from the desperate woman. "Tell them we'll need the crystals immediately upon arrival."

"Yes, sir," Spock replied as they paced quickly down the hall to the lift where he relayed these orders to the bridge. From there, they headed to their quarters.

"There's no point in locking up the women," Jim reasoned, speaking quickly for no reason, Spock could determine, other than that his mind was working rapidly as well.

"Agreed, Captain."

"Jim. They'd just get out; they seem to have a magnetic affect on the crewmen."

"But we can isolate Mr. Mudd. He does seem to be the only one with malevolent intentions."

Jim nodded as they entered his quarters. "Agreed."

Spock sat at the table in the kitchen with Jim. The Vulcan pulled a smoky gray stone, uncut, with a large crack spiraling through it, from his pocket. He turned it over in his fingers. "Even cracked and burned, they're beautiful," he remarked.

"Well, Mr. Spock!" Jim teased. "I didn't know that Vulcan brain of yours could appreciate the finer things."

"On the contrary, Captain. Vulcans have a great appreciation for beauty."

Jim smile. "Nonetheless. It was another man's ship, or the crystal. I'd do it again."

"I do not disagree with that assessment of priority. However, we may have saved ourselves quite a bit of time and, on your part, exasperation, had we chosen the other. In this particular instance."

Jim chuckled. "I can't help but agree. He's a pain in the ass." Spock tucked the crystal away and Jim rose.

"You want some tea?"

Surprised, the Vulcan nodded. "That would be welcome."

"I don't suppose you need the headache meds, though?" he asked, shaking the bottle with a smile.

"Vulcans learn at an early age to suppress and erase pain," Spock answered. He started when the cup was set in front of him. "Captain, this is Vulcan tea," he said in astonishment.

"Yeah," Jim looked at the tabletop as he sat. "I loved that stuff you made me, so I found out what it is and tricked the replicator into making it for me. It's not as good as the real thing, but I haven't had the time to make the replicators make me a stove, or a hot-plate yet. Being a captain is time-consuming." He smiled and raised his mug. "And it's Jim, Spock."

"As I have said, it would not be appropriate—"

"We are off-duty, Spock. I can't believe I have to twist your arm to get you to do something as simple as call me by my first name when we're not even doing anything official. We're in my quarters drinking tea, for Pete's sake. That's about as unofficial as it gets."

There was a pause. "I will endeavor to acquiesce to your request in the future…Jim."

Jim smiled. "Was that really so hard?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I do not understand why you are so insistent upon this. It seems highly unorthodox."

Inhaling sharply, and letting it out again, the Iowan rolled his eyes. "On Earth, Spock, friends call each other by their first names."

"This is a familiar practice on Vulcan as well. It conveys trust and intimacy. I did not realize we were, as you say, friends."

Jim couldn't help but laugh. "But I want us to be friends, Spock. How's that gonna happen if you can't relax around me enough to call me Jim?"

Spock cocked his head thoughtfully. "I see. Why are you so adamant on developing a personal relationship?"

Jim shook his head. It was his turn to look pensive. "I don't know, Spock. I just think you're interesting and I'd like to get to know you. Isn't that enough?"

"I suppose it is...Jim."

"Well, then." Jim smiled and took a big gulp of tea.

* * *

Upon reaching Rigel XII and beaming up the head miner and one of his partners, they discovered, to their displeasure, that one of the women had swiped a communicator off a crewmember, and that Mudd had contacted the planet. The miners, three men who had been at it for several years, refused to give up the crystals for anything other than Mudd's women. _You freaking Neanderthal bastard_, he thought furiously. But the women were pleading to go and he couldn't very well keep them aboard unless he wanted to press charges. So he had no choice but to agree. After transporting the women down, they went back to a cabin, and the men put on some music.

Jim, beginning to feel the desperation of his dying ship, demanded that the head miner, Childress, give him the crystals now that he had what he wanted. Childress brushed off his command and tried to flirt with Evie, who, despite being the most insistent about getting a husband, was in a bad mood. When she did not respond to the man's advances, he cut in on Ruth and his friend, who were dancing. "Hey!" the other man protested. He punched his partner, and the third man jumped in to pull them apart.

Evie ran from the cabin, yelling, "Why don't you hold a raffle and the loser can have me?!" Jim didn't understand her attitude, but pulled the miners and some crewmen together for a search party when Evie was not found in the immediate vicinity. The wind started to pick up.

Childress, who was his search partner (Jim wasn't happy about it, but someone had to keep an eye on the jerk) called, "There's a wind storm coming! Anyone who's not undercover won't have much chance!" Reluctantly, Jim pulled out his communicator.

"Crewmen, the locals say a storm's coming. Get back up to the ship and we'll continue the search when the winds die down." Only after receiving an "Aye, sir," from each team did he comm Spock, who was using the ship's sensors to sweep the planet.

"Keep working the scanners, Mr. Spock. I'm ready to beam up."

"Yes, Captain."

"Childress, will you—?"

"My house isn't far, Captain, I'll make it in plenty of time."

"Very well. Beam me up."

The familiar tingle surrounded him, and he found himself back on the _Enterprise_, windswept and grimy, but otherwise unscathed. He went straight to the bridge. "Mr. Spock."

Spock spun in his chair. "Captain, the storm seems to be interfering with our scanners. I can detect nothing from the planet below and our transporter will be blocked if we attempt to beam anyone up."

"Crew safe?"

"You were the last to beam up, Captain."

Jim closed his eyes briefly in relief. "And the ones on planet?"

"All but Childress and Miss McHuron were located within dwellings prior to sensor failure."

"They're on their own now," Jim stated grimly.

"Indeed, Captain."

* * *

Four hours later, the ship was down to three-quarters of an hour of battery power, and the winds were beginning to die. The Captain, dragging Mudd along with him, beamed down outside of Childress's house, where the scanners had detected two life signs. As they approached, they heard loud yelling from within. Jim, in no mood at all for pleasantries, shoved open to door to be met with abrupt silence. Childress and Evie (who looked rather haggard) stared at him.

"I didn't touch her," Childress said immediately. Jim wanted to sneer at him. _A captain's supposed to have dignity…a captain's supposed to have dignity…_he repeated to himself, praying that they could soon move on from this daunting episode.

"Thank Heaven you found her," Mudd said genially.

"Yeah, she's been bubbling with gratitude ever since," the miner replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. Evie looked up expressionlessly.

"Tell him," Jim ordered suddenly as Mudd and Childress sat down. "Tell him, Harry."

"Ah." Mudd shifted uncomfortably. "Yes. Well—"

"The Venus drugs, Harry."

Childress perked up, and said he'd heard of it. "But only in stories."

"It exists," Jim assured him, casting a nasty glance at Mudd. "Illegally."

"It's actually harmless—" Mudd began.

"Harmless?" Evie repeated, for the first time showing emotion. Her voice was tinged with anger.

"It gives you more of whatever you have," Mudd explained. Jim planted his fists on the table, leaning over them imposingly to hurry the confession along. "For men it's muscles, for women it's femininity."

"He gave it to the women before you met them," Jim revealed impatiently.

Childress looked at Evie in fascination and disgust. "Does that mean others really look like _she_ does?" Jim was really tempted to hit the man for being such an ass—Evie was _right there_, after all.

"Mr. Childress, I—" Mudd hedged.

"Is that what it means?" the miner said loudly.

"Yes, that's what it means!" Evie answered in annoyance.

"What about my partners?" he asked.

Jim answered this. "They left for their quarters during the storm. They're married—subspace radio marriage." _This whole thing is just bullshit_, he thought angrily.

Childress lunged at Mudd, but Jim pulled him off. "It was a fraud. They can get out of it, if they want."

"Why—" Childress growled, scowling at Evie.

"You can't blame the women!" Mudd panicked, trying desperately to salvage his deal. A fruitless endeavor, as he was headed straight for a Federal penitentiary when they got the crystals.

"I can," Childress retorted. "A man goes out and fights, we all almost died, and now we've got the good life in our hands, you bring us women for wives that—"  
"You don't want wives, you want this!" Evie cried, grabbing the Venus pills and holding them under his nose. "I hope you remember it and dream about it, because you can't have it." Jim thought his eyes might very well pop out from how much they'd been rolling over the last few minutes. "It's not real!"

And then, for some reason that Jim could not fathom—she was just getting a backbone—she spun and tossed back the pills, and when she turned again, she was once again a beauty, smile sultry and eyes smoldering. "Is this the kind of wife you want, Ben? Not someone to help you, someone to cook, and sew, and cry, and need. This kind. Selfish, vain, useless." She slid into his lap. "Is this what you really want? All right then, here it is."

Jim smiled despite himself. "Quite a women, eh, Childress?" he said, approving of the new, self-valuing Evie.

"But fake," Childress said. "Pumped up by a drug."

Jim shook his head. "By herself. There was no drug."

"I took it!" she said defensively.

"That was colored gelatin."

Evie looked sharply at Mudd, who said, with a look of distaste, "Yes, they took away my drug and substituted that."

"But that can't be," she replied.

"There's only one kind of woman," Jim said.

"Or man, for that matter," Mudd cut in, and for once, Jim didn't glare at him.

"You either believe in yourself, or you don't. And now, Miss McHuron, you are the former. All right, Childress," he said, tone changing to demand and authority. "I've had enough of you trying to toy with us. I'll have those dilithium crystals, now!" he pulled out a communicator. "_Enterprise_, this is Captain Kirk."

"Spock here, Captain."

"Stand by."

He looked expectantly at Childress. "Should I beam down a search party?"

"No. Uh, I'll give you the crystals. You're welcome to them."

"Stand by, Mr. Spock; we're coming aboard—_with_ the crystals this time."

"How many coming, Captain?" The captain stared at Childress and Evie.

"Eve'll stay," the man said instantly. _Does she get a say in that?_ He wondered. "We want to talk."

Jim, though, looked to Evie for consent. She sighed at him. "You've got someone up there…called the _Enterprise_."

_Oooo-kay_, Jim thought confusedly. _Whatever _that_ means_. "Just the two of us, Mr. Spock. Evie is staying." He collected the crystals from Childress and shoved Mudd roughly out the door.

As they prepared to depart, Mudd asked, "Could you possibly, by accident, arrange to leave me here? On this planet, isn't that punishment enough?"

"I can't do that, Harry," Jim said, in a friendly tone. His look changed to that of someone having an epiphany, and he continued earnestly; "But I will appear as a character witness at your trial. If you think that'll help."

Mudd looked at the Captain as though realizing a true evil. "They'll throw away the key," he said in horrified awe.

Jim couldn't contain his smirk as they were caught in the transporter beam.

* * *

Two days later, they dropped Mudd off at a starbase, and to the person in charge of Mudd's new cell block, Jim muttered, "Your problem now…poor bastard," giving the frightened-looking man a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before departing.

When he returned to the ship, he headed immediately for the mess hall and enjoyed dinner with his command crew, something that was fast becoming a regular occurrence. As they went their separate ways for the evening, Jim found himself once again in step with the Vulcan. "Hey, Spock," he said thoughtfully.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Jim. Do you play chess, by any chance?" Amazement crossed the impassive face.

"I do. I programmed this ship's computers for it myself. Why do you ask?"

"Would you like to play? I haven't had a decent chess partner in a long time." Jim smiled persuasively.

Spock hesitated. "I…believe that would be acceptable."

"Great."  
Settled in with two cups of tea and a three-dimensional chess board, Jim assessed his opponent. "You can be white," he said. Surprise flickered in the dark eyes, but Spock merely nodded and moved a piece up a level. Jim pursed his lips and retaliated. There was silence at first, but as the game continued, they began to talk about Mudd and the havoc he had wreaked. "Two days, but it felt like forever," Jim sighed.

"I must concur," Spock said evenly. "His was a very disruptive presence."

"That's the understatement of the year."

Expecting a rebuttal for the illogicality of the statement, Jim looked up. Spock merely shrugged slightly in a way that conveyed agreement.

Jim snickered. "Well, we handled him. I thought it was particularly inspiring when you nerve-pinched him this morning."

"Thank you, Captain."

"It's _Jim_. And the nerve-pinch thing is funny when it isn't happening to me. You'll have to teach it to me someday."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "It is very difficult for a human to master. It requires precision that your species lacks."

Jim raised his own eyebrows and flashed a grin. "You forget—I'm Jim Kirk. That means I'm bad-ass."

Spock looked about to reply, but instead regarded the board coolly and said, "Checkmate."

"What?" Jim scowled at the board as Spock plucked up his king. "Well, at least you'll keep me humble, eh, Spock?" Jim finally said sardonically.

Spock lifted his eyes to the captain. "I am exceptional, Captain," he said. "But even I cannot accomplish the impossible."

There was a pause as his words sunk in.

"Sp—Spock," Jim stuttered weakly. "Did you just—" It hit him, and he threw back his head, roaring with laughter. "You just made a joke!"

One black brow rose. "I assure you, I did no such thing."

"You did!" he crowed. "I _knew_ it!"

"What did you know?"

Jim smiled triumphantly. "I knew you had a sense of humor! How very human!"

The eyebrow rose higher over a dancing brown eye. "I see no need for you to insult me, Jim."

Jim's grin widened.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you guys still with me get everything you asked for for Christmas, or Hanukkah, or whatever you celebrate. If you leave a review, you will make this the best Christmas of my life! I promise that it won't be so long between chaps this time. Assuming I can finish this stupid project for my Bio teacher…

If you guys see any weird errors, please tell me, because this computer is a BITCH. I just spent fifteen minutes trying to undo the fact that every instance of the word 'Spock' had, for some unfathomable reason, been replaced with 'I'. And no, I never told it to do that.

Love you guys!

And Happy New Year!

EDIT 5/25/13: I realize that for those of you who have read the Countdown to Darkness graphic novel, this is a bit un-canon. Sorry, but I couldn't cut a whole chapter. I did try to make some minor changes to make it a little more in keeping with the _Darkness_ verse.


	8. Wink of an Eye

**Love Means Living And Dying**

**Disclaimer****:** I don't own _Star Trek_, but I do play in its sandbox.

**A/N: **So. Ahem. I AM SO SO SO SO SO VERY SORRY I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON AND I KNOW MOST OF YOU THOUGHT I ABANDONED THIS FIC AND I DIDN'T AND I HAVE NO EXCUSE EXCEPT FOR LIFE AND I BEG YOUR FORGIVENESS!

I know how insufferable it is when a fanfic goes on hiatus like this, and I am so sorry. I know my fic isn't as important or amazing as some of the other stuff out there, but I know I have a few followers and this absence was inexcusable. I wish I could promise that it won't happen again, but I'll be heading to college in the fall, so I can't honestly say. I will say that in the event that I give up on this fic, I will post a note telling you so, and I will tell anyone who wants to know what I had planned to do with the story.

Some of you may have noticed that I re-uploaded the last two chapters. That is because I decided to rewrite _Into Darkness_ the way I did the first movie and had to reconcile a few differences.

This chapter is dedicated to the people who kept reviewing and favorite-ing during the break. I love each and every one of you. Most especially, though, it is for **AgentStorm007**, who in addition to having a badass name, kicked my butt into gear by telling me how much I suck. Thank you!

**Chapter Seven: Wink of An Eye**

Running through a godforsaken jungle, pursued by a bunch of primitive natives, intent on the scroll in his hand. Jim had to wonder why this felt a little familiar when he knew he'd never done it before. Sardonically, he thought that it was probably due to the manifold times when he had been running for his life after doing something ill-advised.

He hung the scroll from a tree branch and heard the pursuit stop. A tinge of relief swept him, but then his other source of worry again made itself known. He lifted his communicator to give Spock the go, and then his first officer was reminding him of the Prime Directive.

Jim snapped that he already knew that, and "That's why I'm running through the jungle in disguise!"

Spock was suited up and ready to go. Ready to leap heedlessly into an active volcano. Jim was trying not to think about it. Annoying as he could be, Spock had quickly become one of the people he most relied on. Jim had begun to think of him as a friend, and more than that, one of his best. He didn't like the thought of his friend going into a volcano, protective gear or not. Especially considering that Jim was currently in no position to help him should things go amiss.

Jim was also trying not to think about the fact that in their short tenure as a command team, something nearly always went amiss. But that wasn't what he should be focusing on. Spock was more than capable of handling himself, and this was his plan which made it more likely to work than one of Jim's by design. And he and McCoy were currently approaching a cliff.

"I hate this!" McCoy shouted from behind him.

Jim would have sighed if he hadn't been breathing so heavily. "I know you do!" He called back in a resigned tone.

McCoy yelled that they weren't going the right way to get to the beach; Jim yelled back, "We're not going to the beach."

Even though he couldn't hear whether or not McCoy replied, Jim could _feel_ him cursing.

And then there was the leap off the cliff, the painful landing and the long swim down the _Enterprise_. Scotty met them as they entered, looking like a (furious) drowned cat as he started ranting about the effects of being underwater on a craft built for space. "Do you know how ridiculous it is to hide a starship on the bottom of the ocean?!" he demanded.

As per usual, Jim ignored him, sprinting up to the bridge in his wetsuit. McCoy was hot on his heels. He burst into the bridge and he knew something was wrong the second he saw Uhura and Sulu, both suited up, standing there.

Spock was alone, inside an active volcano with a device that would render everything within blast radius inert. They couldn't transport him without a direct line of sight.

"I don't know we can maintain that kind of altitude." Sulu said.

Then Spock jumped in. "The shuttle was small enough to hide inside the ash cloud; the _Enterprise_ is not."

Jim bent over the console, grinding his teeth in frustration. "Spock, you know the rules better than anyone but there has got to be an exception!"

"None," the Vulcan replied quite calmly. He reiterated the details of the Prime Directive, as though Jim didn't know.

"We're trying to save your life, goddammit!" McCoy hissed.

The second were counting down. Detonation imminent. Jim stared at the screen, his loyalty to Spock warring with loyalty to Starfleet. McCoy was standing silent next to him.

"If Spock were here and I were there," Jim said, in a voice for McCoy's ears alone. "What would he do?"

McCoy didn't hesitate. "He'd let you die."

Jim thought about that for the briefest moment. And then he thought, blazing and sure, _No. No, he wouldn't._

"Take us up, Mr Sulu," he ordered. "Mr. Chekov, have the transporter room standing by, I want our Science Officer back on board as soon as you can get a lock."

"Aye, Captain," they said together, and Jim didn't wait for anything else. He took off running down the halls of the ship, toward the transporter room. His heart was pounding in his throat and despite all of the exertion he had just had, he knew it was more from worry than exercise. After less than a year of traveling together, was he really going to lose his First Officer and friend to a goddamn volcano?

No, Spock would be beamed aboard. Jim refused to allow any other outcome. This was the only acceptable result.

Jim flew into the transporter room and drew up short, out of breath but relieved beyond words at the sight of his first officer, standing up and looking as stunned as a Vulcan can. "Spock!" he couldn't help shouting. "You all right?"

"Captain, you let them see our ship," Spock said, scandalized.

Jim heaved a breath, not sure whether to laugh or sigh. "Aw, he's fine," said McCoy disgustedly.

For a moment, Jim wasn't sure if Spock was okay; in the months they had been working together, he had never known Spock to state the obvious. But then Spock continued in a scolding tone and Jim figured it was just shock. Spock was going to be fine.

"Captain, is Commander Spock on board?" Uhura's voice demanded desperately through the comms.

"Safely and soundly," Jim reported. He couldn't help smiling a little, even as Spock continued to berate him for his violation of the Prime Directive.

* * *

"We have to do this now," Sulu said, releasing him belt and moving toward the bay. Spock stood still, allowing Uhura to make the final adjustments to his heat- and radiation-proof suit. "I told the captain the shuttle wasn't built for this kind of heat."

At that moment the captain came through on the comms, telling them it was time.

Spock couldn't help inquiring if the natives had seen the captain; though they had a good plan, in his experience, things involving Jim rarely went according to plan. "The Prime Directive forbids interference with the—" Even as he continued, the captain interrupted breathlessly.

"I know, Spock. That's why I'm running through the jungle in disguise."

When the captain hung up, Uhura checked him over one last time. "You sure you don't want me to go?" she asked.

Spock's eyebrow rose, finding this highly illogical. "That would be illogical, as I am already outfitted—"

"Spock," she interrupted. "I was kidding." She kissed his visor, which he found even more illogical but supposed gave her comfort.

She left the bay, closing the doors behind her. As she sat back down, Sulu ran through the flips and switches. Uhura put her hand on the release switch that would send Spock spiraling into the volcano's heat. At Sulu's word, she pulled it and Spock dropped out of the shuttle, the high-tensile cable keeping him anchored and ready to reel him in at a moment's notice. Spock held on calmly, surveying the volatile landscape of lava and rocks that was barely visible through the smoke. His sharp eyes searched for a safe place to land and detonate the device.

Before he could find one, Sulu commed. "Spock, we have to pull you up!" The shuttle engine was overheating.

"Negative," Spock said firmly. "This is our only chance to save this race. If we do not do this, the planet will die."

But Sulu must have ordered Uhura to reel him in anyway. Just as he was swinging toward a large, stable-looking rock formation, he felt the cable tension reversing, drawing him away from his destination. He shoved down the frustration welling in him ruthlessly.

And then the tension was gone completely, jolting a yell out of him. Looking up, he saw the end of the cable dangling uselessly, burned through from the lava.

_Fascinating,_ he thought distantly, _the heat from the volcano must be more intense then we had anticipated._

He hit the rock, rolling painfully end over end. The device was knocked from his hands, clattering away over stone, and he spared a thought to hope it remained intact and out of the lava. When he came to a stop he registered Uhura's voice in his comm.

He clambered to his feet, assessing his injuries. _Minor, nothing incapacitating_. "I am, surprisingly, alive," he replied dryly.

Spock moved quickly and efficiently to gather the device, which had survived but had had a few pieces knocked loose. He heard his companions abandoning the destroyed shuttle as he worked.

And then the captain was in his ear, demanding that he be saved. Spock closed his eyes briefly. It would seem illogical, but he could hear the barely contained fear in Jim's voice. Even as he argued, he could tell that Jim feared for his life, that Jim was nearly desperate to save him. They had become closer over the past few missions, with the two separate Mudd incidents, the chess games, the sparring, and the occasional late-night conversation when neither of them could sleep. Spock had been surprised to discover how much they had in common, and how much he liked Jim.

It could not be denied that no one had ever infuriated Spock the way Jim did; the captain just had a way of getting under his first officer's skin. Jim was impulsive and emotional, but from these traits stemmed indomitable courage, remarkable adaptability, and unshakeable loyalty.

All traits prized by Vulcans since the days before Surak.

Jim had also demonstrated a stubborn sense of right and wrong, a keen intuition, and seemingly endless optimism. He was witty and intelligent and good at reading people. He had a dry sense of humour and somehow, he always knew when Spock was making a joke. He always laughed, even when it was a joke at his own expense. And though he continued to protest that he did not joke, Spock had found himself doing exactly that more often than ever, now that he had found someone who recognized them. Even Nyota, for all her quick intelligence, sometimes failed to pick up on his attempts at humour.

Spock had come to admire all of these qualities in his captain, human though many of them were. In fact, he believed that Jim's human nature was one of the most admirable things about him. He believed they had come to be a very effective Captain/First Officer team.

And now his Captain was asking him to find an exception in Starfleet's most iron-clad rule, so that he could live. Jim was asking him to do the impossible in order to save his own life and Spock could not. Illogically, Spock felt the overwhelming urge to apologize. The Prime Directive was completely free of loopholes. There was no way to save him.

For a moment, Spock thought of the people he would be leaving behind—his father, who was still grieving for Amanda; Nyota, who had begged him to be less reckless; Jim, who had never lost a crewman and who would see Spock's death as his own fault.

But he couldn't abide such thoughts, so he pushed them back, and closed his eyes. He could hear the roar of the volcano around him. It almost sounded alive, angry and violent and destructive. Utterly god-like in its power. He could feel the heat even through his suit, hotter than the desert winds of Vulcan. The wind buffeted him, trying to send him into the molten lava. This was nature at its purest. Elemental, destructive, immeasurably powerful. _Beautiful_.

Spock was on his knees, head tilted back and arms spread, embracing the power that was surrounding him. _Beautiful_, he thought again, and he surrendered to it.

_Mother_. He pictured her, and although Vulcans did not believe in the afterlife, he hoped illogically that he would see her again. If he was to leave behind his new family, he wanted nothing more than to rejoin the one he had lost. _Mother_.

It was at that moment that he felt the familiar tingling of the transporter. His eyes opened and he stood, amazed to find himself unharmed in the transporter room. He reeled slightly at the shock of being alive and no longer immersed in the chaos of the volcano, but before he could reconcile himself to the stark order of the transporter room, much less the fact that he would live, Jim was dashing through the door, Dr. McCoy close behind.

Jim hadn't even bothered to change out of his wet suit and his hair was dripping. Dimly Spock noted that the pale blue of the suit emphasized the brilliant color of Jim's eyes. Much more pressing, however, was what Jim had just done to save his life.

"Spock!" Jim cried, the relief evident in his voice. He was panting, clearly having run all the way down from the bridge. _Was his worry for me so great_? Spock wondered. He didn't have to think about that. _Yes, it was. He ran all the way because he could not wait for others to give him the news of my survival—or demise._

"Captain, you let them see our ship," Spock stated, disbelieving.

Jim heaved out a breath, not bothering to respond as he assessed Spock, presumably for any damage. McCoy, on the other hand, snorted. "Aww, he's fine." It would seem he judged Spock's health based on his words. _An unorthodox practice for a doctor_, he thought in the back of his mind, even as he continued to advise Jim on the consequences of his actions.

_I did not thank him,_ Spock realized as Jim finally departed to dry off.

* * *

Several hours later, after they had left Nibiru behind and Alpha shift was over, Spock was sitting in his quarters, drawing up his report on the incident. However, though he mechanically went through the motions, he couldn't help dwelling upon what had happened.

"I did not thank him," he said quietly. In the echoing silence of his rooms, the words reverberated back to him and they sounded even more wrong aloud than they had in his head. He shook his slightly as if to shake off the uncomfortable thought. A human gesture he had unconsciously picked up from his mother.

_Mother would be disappointed._ Spock knew this.

"Will you hand me that?" she asked brightly, pointing to a spade on the shelf across the greenhouse.

Eight year old Spock complied, bringing her the tool.

"Thank you, Spock," she said.

"You requested something logical of me and I fulfilled that request," Spock said primly. "Gratitude is unnecessary."

Amanda sat back on her heels, wiping sweat from her brow. "I disagree," she said simply.

She knew that her son would never accept such a statement without an explanation. He cocked his head. "Why, Mother?"

Amanda looked at the spade and then at the rosebush she was tending. "See this bush?"

Spock nodded silently, surveying the prickly plant that his mother so loved. "It is a rose," he confirmed. Privately he wondered why his mother had asked his father for this on his most recent trip to Earth. It was small and covered in thorns. It was markedly different from the brown and red plants of Vulcan. It had no use that his mother had told him of, and it was not aesthetically pleasing like the lilies and daffodils his mother also grew in the small greenhouse.

"That's right," she nodded, smiling. "It's been my favorite plant ever since I was a child." She cocked her head, gazing at it fondly. Intrigued, he crouched beside her for a closer look, but it seemed no more interesting than it did from a distance. "Roses are not easy plants to grow. They require certain kinds of soil, large amounts of water but too much can kill them, and sometimes despite best effort they refuse to prosper. Different kinds of roses have different needs, too. Tending them and keeping them alive is hard work in most climates."

"Like on Vulcan," Spock concluded.

"Yes. So I work hard to make it grow healthy and strong." Amanda turned to look at Spock. "Do you think this plant ever thanks me for my work?"

Spock shook his head. "As plants are incapable of feeling or of speech, I cannot imagine that it does."

Amanda smiled. "It does not thank me with words. But it thanks me by blooming. Look, see that bud? In a week's time that will be a flower, bright pink and sweet-smelling. And that is my reward."

"Why have you told me this?" Spock inquired.

"I guess because I am a human, and humans think in metaphors," Amanda laughed after thinking about it. "Spock, think about it this way. I asked you to give me that spade and you declared it logical. Why?"

Spock answered promptly. "I was closer to the tool and you were still busy pruning the bush."

"And yet, I was perfectly capable of getting up and retrieving it myself with no negative impacts on myself or the plant. It was logical that you retrieve the spade, but it wasn't necessary. You could have easily ignored my request with no detriment to me. That is why I find gratitude important. If we remember to express gratitude, we remember that no one is obligated to do anything for us. The rosebush doesn't have to thrive, but my expert care allows it to and my work is rewarded with flowers that I find pleasing. Recognition of any effort on another's behalf is never amiss."

Spock looked at the tightly closed bud and then into his mother's open face, which was smiling at him in that kind, gentle way that always comforted him. "I understand, Mother," he told her.

She put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him. A decidedly un-Vulcan gesture but one that Spock nevertheless found comforting. "Of course you do. You're very smart, even for a Vulcan." She kissed his temple and then let him go so that he could return to his homework and she to her gardening.

"Thank you, Mother," he said. Amanda smiled up at him.

"I love you, Spock," she said.

"Thank you, Mother," he repeated. "I love you as well."

Spock shook himself out of memory, but could not help recalling that it wasn't long after that he had stopped telling his mother he loved her. He had thought it too emotional a sentiment. Now he regretted having let that stop him.

_I must thank him,_ he decided. Somehow it seemed like an insult to his mother as well as to Jim to hold back his gratitude.

Setting aside his PADD, Spock stood. A glance at the chronometer showed him that it was late, but not so late that Jim was likely to be asleep. Spock went to the connecting door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. "Captain?" He knew Jim was in his quarters and unlikely to be asleep. Worry was illogical.

It is logical to make sure he has not suffered any adverse effects from the mission today. With that in mind, Spock pressed the button. It was unlocked and slid open with a whoosh. "Captain?"

Again there was no reply, but this time it was easy to see why. He was slumped in his computer chair in his pajamas, head tipped back, a PADD on his lap, and soft breaths coming from his throat. Spock's curiosity got the better of him, and he walked over, looking down at the PADD.

It was a personal log about the mission. Spock looked away quickly to preserve the captain's privacy, but not before he inadvertently read bits of it. "…Spock nearly died…" "Nick of time" and "…lose a friend…" were all phrases that caught his attention.

He had known, objectively, that Jim considered him a friend and had been worried for his welfare, but it was another thing to see the evidence before his eyes. When he turned his eyes to Jim's face, he saw the signs of weariness, the dark circles and furrowed brows. He wondered how much of that fatigue was his own doing, but quickly dismissed his thoughts as arrogant.

Spock lifted the PADD out of Jim's limp hands and saw a few more details as he set it aside. "Really scared when I thought…" "…Become good friends, I'm glad he's here…" "…Couldn't let him die."

He felt a strange upsurge of respect, bordering on admiration. _He is exceptional_, Spock observed. _Such an unprecedented level of loyalty and devotion, from this man of all people. _Spock cocked his head, studying his commanding officer critically. _It now seems unthinkable that I once regarded him as irresponsible, immoral and self-serving, _he mused. _Now that I know that in fact, he is so determined to get what he wants because he wants to protect everyone around him._

Jim shifted slightly, a small frown on his face, and Spock started out of his thoughts. He admonished himself sternly for allowing his mind to wander when he was just standing in front a man who was sleeping in what had to be an exceedingly uncomfortable position. He reached out and put a hand on Jim's shoulder.

"Captain," he said quietly. Jim groaned slightly but didn't wake. "Jim," Spock said, shaking his shoulder. Jim's eyes snapped open and he gasped, sitting straight up with an intense expression. Spock leaned back a little in surprise at the violent reaction, but then Jim slumped and rubbed his eyes. He lowered his fists and blinked in confusion.

"Spock?" His voice was thick with sleep but aware.

"Yes, Jim."

"What're you doing here?" he mumbled, trying to stand and stumbling.

Spock caught him with a hand at his elbow. "I came to tell you that I am…grateful to you, for electing to save my life. It was not logical, but nevertheless, I thank you."

Jim blinked and smiled. "You're welcome, Spock." He yawned widely, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to hide it. He sank back into the chair sleepily.

"Jim, do you intend to continue sleeping at this juncture?" Spock inquired.

"Mmm." Jim yawned, settling deeper into the chair.

"It would be logical for you to relocate to your bed," the Vulcan pointed out to the partially-comatose human. Jim only nodded sleepily. Spock sighed internally—funny, how often Jim seemed to provoke that reaction—and grasped the captain by the shoulder. "Come, Jim."

Jim groaned slightly, almost petulantly. "_Jim_." With difficulty, Spock managed to hoist Jim to his feet and, with a hand under his elbow to keep him from falling, guided him to the edge of the bed. Jim plopped down, clearly struggling to remain awake.

Spock pulled back Jim's blanket and Jim rolled under it helpfully. Spock brought the edge up to Jim's chin as his own mother used to do for him. He paused. He almost had to stop himself from smiling. In many ways, Jim reminded him of Amanda. As he was drawing away, a cool human hand caught his wrist. Spock looked down in surprise. He had assumed Jim to be asleep and he was unused to physical contact from people other than Nyota. "Yes, Jim?"

Jim met his eyes. "I'm glad you're alive, Spock," he said simply.

"Thank you, Jim," Spock replied.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Jim."

* * *

Thomas Harewood and his wife were silent as they dressed and prepared to leave. Thomas watched as his wife hesitated, took a shuddering breath, and then entered the other bedroom.

It was blue and green, decorated with stars and astronomy charts. Even the bedspread had an image of a nebula on it. The room was quiet and still. The bed was made, untouched, and toys were lined up neatly on the low shelves. It had been months since anyone had inhabited this room.

When Rima came out again, she had a worn stuffed bunny in her arms and tears streaming down her face. Every week, she did this, and every week she cried. Thomas gently closed the door to the child's room and wrapped his arms around his wife. She clung to him tightly, shaking. Thomas closed his eyes, desperate to keep in his own sobs.

Finally Rima pulled back. She took his face in her hands, wiping tears out of the corners of his eyes. Their foreheads pressed together and she kissed him chastely.

Composing themselves, they clasped hands and left the apartment.

The train ride was long and still neither of them spoke. These days, they didn't seem to need words. Both knew what the other was thinking of.

At the hospital, they listened to the doctor as he briefed them. No worse today, but no better. Never better.

And there, in the hospital room, was their beautiful daughter. His little Lucy, so still and calm, nothing like how she had been before the illness. Lucille had been full of life and intelligence, and she dreamed of following in his footsteps and joining Starfleet. Lately she had been determined to become an officer on the _Enterprise_, under Captain Kirk. But the illness had eaten away at that life, until, just a week ago, she had fallen into a coma. The doctors believed she would never awaken.

Rima carefully removed the stuffed dog from Lucy's grip and replaced it with the bunny. Then she leaned over to kiss Lucy's cheeks, her trembling hand clutching the small, limp one where it rested on the bed.

Lucy looked so much like her mother, but she had her father's spirit. Where Rima was serene and patient, Lucy and Thomas were eager, stubborn, and determined.

Thomas kissed her on the forehead, his body shaking with frustration and anger. His wife was stricken with sadness, but Thomas felt the fury of helplessness, the absolute impotence of his situation.

His baby would have been an unparalleled Starfleet scientist. But she would never get the chance. She would never get the chance to do anything, ever again.

Thomas dragged a hand over his mouth, staring at the tiny body of his Lucy. It was more than he could bear. He had failed his little girl.

Consumed with his failure, unable to stand there looking at his daughter's still form, Thomas strode out of the room and down the hall to the balcony where patients and visitors could survey the London skyline. He gripped the railing, watching his knuckles whiten in morbid fascination. The skyline had once been one of his favorite things about London. It was why he and Rima had moved into an apartment on the 35th floor of their building. Now it held no pleasure for him. Nothing did, anymore. He suspected nothing would again.

"I can save her."

Thomas's heart skipped a beat and he fought to breathe, not daring to hope that the deep voice was speaking to him.

He turned around and stared at the stranger. "What did you say?"

"Your daughter. I can save her."

The stranger was tall and striking. Coal-black hair, expertly slicked back, contrasted sharply with pale marble skin and brilliant eyes that hovered somewhere between blue and gray. He had high, sharp cheekbones and broad shoulders that emphasized his aura of power. Even more than all of that though, was the way he carried himself, with absolute confidence and authority bordering on arrogance. As though people should be bowing before him.

And he claimed he could save Lucy. From anyone else, Thomas might have called bullshit, but with the way this man spoke, it was impossible not to believe. The cunning look in his eyes said that there would be a price to his help.

Thomas already knew that he would pay it gladly.

So, his desperation clear in his voice and his face, he approached. He didn't feel the need to ask why; he was sure that answer would come in time. So he simply said, "How?"

The man smiled.

Thomas knew he had been sought out, that he was walking directly into a trap. He knew that whatever this man wanted from him in return for Lucy's life would be a steep price. But the alternative was allowing his baby to die, knowing that he could have saved her. And that was no alternative at all. With his head up, Thomas walked into the trap. For Lucy, he would do so much worse.

* * *

Being Earth-side again felt strange, even though it had only been four months since Jim had last been down. The open sky, the smell of real fresh air, rather than the processed stuff they pumped through the vents, all seemed surreal. As nice as it was to feel the grass under his shoes, he already missed his ship.

The best thing about being planet-side and on shore leave was that he was able to pick up a pair of twins at a bar and take them back to his place. Jim was many things, but he wasn't actually a dick (usually), so he kept a strict policy of celibacy while on the ship. Having a one-night stand with someone was only advisable when you could be reasonably certain you'd never have to see them again. Also, as the captain of the ship, he felt it would be irresponsible—he didn't want anyone to feel pressured into anything. So, though he made it a priority to flirt with Uhura as much as possible, he hadn't had any action in nearly six months, two missions ago. He was determined to enjoy himself.

And then his comm went off.

He popped up out of the covers, scrambling, even as one of the twins (Kellie?) whined his name and trailed her hands over him. The other (Katie?) sat up, her tail twitching in irritation. "You aren't really going to get that, are you?" she demanded.

Jim slid off the bed and dashed into the bathroom. "Kirk here," he said as he flipped the communicator open.

"Captain Kirk, this is Admiral Pike's assistant," said a cool female voice.

"Hey, Number One, how's it going?" Jim asked cheerfully.

"I am well. Pike has ordered you to report to his office immediately. Commander Spock will also be reporting."

_That's Number One, all business, all the time_, Jim thought fondly. "Yes, ma'am, please inform the Admiral that I am on my way."

"Yes, sir. On a side note, Captain, I believe it would be best if you did not leave the girl in your quarters, as it is not permitted by regulation for civilians to be unsupervised on Starfleet premises unless they have been checked in by the proper authorities. I shall tell Admiral Pike to expect you."

Jim winced as the connection went dead. _How the fuck does she do that?_ He wondered irritably. He knew for a fact she was one hundred percent human, but she had the mind-reading abilities of a Betazoid, and she didn't even have to be in the same room.

Sighing, Jim reentered the bedroom. At hearing the purring noises the girls made at his return, Jim almost rejoined them in the bed. With Herculean effort, he forced himself over to the closet, tossing their clothes at them as he went. "Sorry, ladies, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this short."

"Seriously?" Katie huffed. She zipped up her dress.

"We could…wait for you to get back," Kellie suggested coyly, propping her chin her hands. "We didn't even get to the fun yet."

Jim was sorely tempted. "I really am sorry, but I have to report in and civilians aren't allowed in Starfleet buildings. I tell you what though," he said, an idea dawning on him. "I'll send my friend Bones to pick you up. He's a doctor."

"Oh?" Katie asked, interested.

Jim grinned. "Very handsome, too. I'm sure he could…show you a good time."

Katie seemed to have forgotten her previous anger. "Fine with us," she agreed, wrapping her arm around her sister's waist and following Jim out.

Jim commed Bones while buttoning up his jacket, trying not to drop the hat clenched under his elbow. McCoy grumbled a bit, but eventually agreed to pick up the twins. Jim smirked at the hint of interest hidden in his friend's Southern drawl.

Hopping on the nearest Starfleet shuttle bus, Jim tried to guess why Pike would be calling him in along with Spock. He discarded half a dozen ridiculous thoughts before landing on one that was both more ridiculous than any of the others and twice as likely.

When he hopped off of the shuttle, he saw the sleek black hair and ramrod-straight back of his First Officer. In spite of himself, he grinned. "Spock!"

Spock turned, hands going behind his back. He paused to let Jim catch up to him and inclined his head slightly. "Captain."

"Jim, Spock, for Pete's sake." Before Spock could reply to the oft-repeated demand, Jim began striding toward their destination. "So what do you think Pike wants?"

"I cannot presume to say," Spock replied coolly.

Jim was practically bouncing in anticipation. "Do you think they're going to give us that deep-space mission everyone's buzzing about?"

"I find it highly unlikely that we should be chosen for that mission," said Spock, making Jim want to groan.

Spock pointed out that they were the newest ship, the most untested, but Jim moved in front of him, walking backward as he cut him off. "A five-year mission, Spock," he crowed. "That's deep space, uncharted territory!"

"As I said, Captain, such an assignment would be illogical."

Jim rolled his eyes and continued to wax poetic about the possibility of getting assigned to the longest single mission in Starfleet history all the way up to Pike's office. A woman with shoulder length dark brown hair and a no-nonsense attitude was sitting at the desk before his door.

"Captain Kirk, Commander Spock," she greeted them. "I shall inform the Admiral of your arrival."

"Good to see you, Number One," Jim said, shaking her hand.

She smiled slightly. "It is nice to see you as well, Captain."

In moments they were standing at attention in front of Admiral Pike's desk. Pike was looking at PADD thoughtfully. "Uneventful." His voice was even and betrayed nothing.

A bad feeling built in the pit of Jim's stomach.

"That's how you described the survey of Nibiru," Pike continued.

Jim stated that he didn't want to bore Pike with details. The excitement of before was entirely gone. The bad feeling grew into disbelief as he realized what Spock had done. "You filed a report?" he asked incredulously. He knew the hurt was evident in his voice. "Why?"

Spock looked uncomfortable for a brief second. "I mistakenly assumed that you would be truthful in your own report."

"Yeah, I would have been if I hadn't had to save your life!" Anger was quickly replacing disbelief. Spock had filed a report, leading to this meeting, which, it was now clear, was to be an official reprimand.

"A fact for which I am immeasurably grateful…" the Vulcan was saying, but Jim was tuning out, possibilities again running rampant through his head but this time none of them were good. There was no good punishment for breaking the Prime Directive and lying about it.

"If the mission had gone according to plan, it would not have become necessary to violate the Prime Directive."

"That's a technicality," Pike growled, coming around the desk with the help of his cane.

"I am Vulcan, sir. We embrace technicalities."

_Holy shit, Spock is giving a superior lip!_ Jim thought in amazement._ I thought he only did that to me._

"Are you giving me attitude, Spock?"

"I am expressing multiple attitudes simultaneously, sir; to which are you referring?"

"Get out," Pike ordered. "_Dismissed_."

Spock looked over at Jim, who was looking determinedly forward. As funny as Spock being a smart-ass was, Jim was still pissed that the man had snitched on him. Spock hesitated for a moment, seeming to want to say something. But after a drawn-out moment, he simply turned on his heel and walked out.

Pike stood for a moment, and Jim waited with bated breath. "You have any idea what a pain in the ass you are?" he asked finally.

"I think so, sir."

* * *

Spock stood outside of the door for a moment, trying to reconcile himself to what he had just done. Though he didn't know it at the time, it would seem that the report he had written could very well be costing Jim his career. It was an…unpleasant thought.

"What is the lesson here?" Pike was demanding.

"Never trust a Vulcan," Jim decided, aggravated. Spock raised an eyebrow. He did not like the idea that Jim no longer trusted him.

"No, see, you can't even answer the question!" Pike fumed. "I gave you my ship because I saw greatness in you. And now I see there's not an ounce of humility. You think the rules are for other people."

"Some should be."

"You think you can't make a mistake, but there's gonna come a moment when you realize you're wrong, and you're going to get yourself and everyone under your command killed."

Spock wanted badly to protest this. Jim was reckless, impulsive, but every decision he made was made with the ultimate goal of the safety of his crew. At the same time, he knew many of Pike's accusations to be accurate. Jim had displayed an irrational faith in his own invincibility.

Jim was protesting that he had never lost a single crewmember. Spock realized with a start that it was highly inappropriate for him to be listening to this conversation when he had already been dismissed. Hat in hand, Spock tore himself away and strode off.

* * *

Dazed, Jim staggered out of Pike's office. He walked, not sure where he was going until he reached his apartment. He pulled off his uniform jacket and went to the closet with the intention of getting pajamas. He stopped dead. Pristine from the laundry, there was his gold uniform, his Captain's stripes gleaming gold at the cuffs. Stripes he was no longer permitted to wear.

Because he wasn't a captain. His ship was gone, taken away by the admiralty. Jim had been demoted and sent back to the Academy. His cheeks burned with shame and he sat down hard on the floor. He stared up at the Captain's stripes, the stripes he'd thought he'd earned. Clearly he'd been wrong. Bitterness and anger and shame mixed a foul taste into the back of his throat.

_They took the _Enterprise _away_, he thought again.

The stripes were blurring, and Jim was horrified to realize that tears were dripping down his cheeks. He buried his face in his hands. He didn't know how long he sat there until he heard the door sliding open.

"Hey, kid," said a gruff, familiar voice.

Jim looked up. He vaguely recalled sending Bones a message on his way back from Pike's office, but he had no idea what he had said. He didn't say anything.

McCoy saw his tearstained face and sighed, sitting down next to him. "Now, your message was a little garbled so let me see if I have this straight. Spock squealed about you saving his green-blooded ass and all that Prime Directive shit. You lied about it. Pike thinks you're going to kill everyone. And…they're sending you back to the Academy and giving the…ship to someone else." His voice softened as he reached the end, and silently Jim thanked him for not saying the _Enterprise_'s name. He didn't think he could handle it.

Without a word, Jim nodded. "Well, shit," McCoy whispered. He wrapped an arm around Jim's shoulders and leaned back against the closet wall. Jim buried his face against McCoy's shoulder, unable to speak but no longer crying. This was why Bones was his best friend. He always knew exactly what to say and what not to say. And he was always there to hold him up.

After about half an hour of companionable silence, McCoy slapped his knee. "There's only one thing to do in a situation like this," he announced. Jim, who was now slumped against the opposite wall, looked up. "It involves good southern whiskey."

He held out a hand and hoisted Jim to his feet. Business-like, he shoved the gold uniform to the back of the closet and began shoving civvies at Jim. Obediently, Jim pulled off the rest of his ground uniform and began to dress. Bones had just handed him a leather jacket when the doctor's comm beeped. McCoy pulled it out scowling ferociously, and Jim spared a thought to feel sorry for the person on the other end of the line. "What?" McCoy snapped.

"We have an Orion being brought in. She is in critical condition and we aren't sure why. Please report to Medical Station Two immediately."

McCoy cursed profusely. "Jim…" he said uncertainly.

Jim took a deep breath and managed a semblance of a smile. "You go. It's all right."

The doctor put his hand on Jim's shoulder and shook it slightly. "Don't go doin' anything stupid, now," he ordered. "Doctor's orders."

"You got it, Bones."

McCoy gave him a last searching look and then hurried off to deal with the Orion.

Jim sighed, pulling on the jacket. Getting drunk wasn't a bad idea. It didn't hold the same kind of appeal it once had, but tonight, with this fate weighing on him, the idea of getting too drunk to remember his own name was irresistible.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and went to find a dive.

* * *

In London, people were going about their lives. On the subway, Thomas looked around at all of the people who were going to work or getting off, heading to parties and meetings, sitting with friends or lovers. He felt the weight of the ring on his finger. In his other fist, in the pocket of his coat, was the case.

The case and the ring. One, the most precious thing he had ever held. The other, the most repulsive. The train stopped smoothly and he and Rima got off as they did every day. They walked the blocks down to the hospital and took the lift up to Lucy's room. She was worse today, her fever spiking. Thomas knew that Rima would insist on staying the night. He would have to wait.

All night, he sat by Lucy's side, holding her tiny, fragile hand in his own, praying he wasn't too late. All night, he whispered to his daughter how much he loved her and how proud he was of her. It wasn't until after dawn, when he would soon have to go into work that Rima finally succumbed to her exhaustion.

Working quickly, Thomas took the case from his pocket and placed the vile into Lucy's IV. The clear liquid in the bag began to turn blood-red in clouds.

It couldn't have taken more than a few seconds as he stood there watching the blood in the IV and the numbers on her readout. But it felt like a lifetime between the blood dripping down the tube and the vital signs returning to green.

Relief made his knees feel weak but he did not have time for more than a brief moment of joy. He kissed his wife and then he kissed his daughter. He sent the message he had written to them to the PADD Rima had left at home, and with a last lingering look at Lucy's face, he slipped out of the room.

He felt numb as he strode down the streets in his Starfleet grays. What he was about to do was unthinkable, but he had no choice. This was the price.

Finally, he reached his workplace, Starfleet's Kelvin Memorial Archive. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He turned and his blood turned to ice. Across the street, watching him with a cold smirk on his face, was the stranger who had saved his daughter's life and demanded such a price. He had introduced himself as John Harrison.

Upon seeing him, the numbness leached away, and Thomas was suddenly sweating all over. He could feel his hands shaking. _Lucy_, he told himself, picturing her face. _Do this for Lucy._

Turning his back on his puppeteer, Thomas tried to put on a façade of confidence as he was scanned and permitted to enter the turbolift that would take him into Section 31.

He had worked for years to gain the clearance necessary to work in this autonomous intelligence section. He wondered how a man like Harrison had managed to gain access to one of the most closely guarded Federation secrets.

Thomas's feet took him to his workstation without any guidance from him, which was good, because Thomas was incapable of thinking about anything but his current, sickening mission. At his station, Thomas had to backtrack to retrieve a glass of water.

Finally, he sat down, grateful that his knees hadn't given out. Gathering his courage, he composed a message to Starfleet brass, confessing to the crime he was about to commit and explaining his circumstances. He hoped that his information would help them apprehend the true villain.

Then, with shaking hands, he pulled off the ring and dropped it into the water. It began to fizz and quake. Thomas closed his eyes. _Lucy_, he thought.

* * *

Just down the block, John Harrison watched the Kelvin Archive closely. Waiting.

BOOM.

An explosion rocked the London air, causing people to scream. Harrison's lips curled into a smirk as flames and smoke rose from the Archive.

Everyone around him was running away from the blast, panicking at the unprecedented attack on a civilian street. Harrison turned, picking up his duffel bag, and walked away calmly.

_Let the games begin._


End file.
